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B Y 

THE VERY REVEREND 
JAMES E. COYLE 

OF 
BLESSED MEMORY 



" There' s rosemar;^ that's for remembrance 
A.nd violets for faithfulness" 



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'Now thou hast gone upon a voyage far 
Beyond the sea mark of thy venturous prime. 



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©CLAtW7 77 7 



IN MEMORIAM 



It is one year since that evening when Father Coyle 
sat upon his porch in the soft Summer twilight, his brev- 
iary in his hand. It was the octave of Saint Laurence 
and the Feast of Saints Tiburtius and Susanna, all Holy 
Martyrs. 

It is possible that the good Priest's mind was engaged 
with the thoughts of the illusion of time, of how what- 
ever is of the spirit endures and "Grows forever and for- 
ever." He may have been thinking of the wisdom of the 
Church in making so accessible those reservoirs of power, 
the countless lives of her martyrs who made sacrifice the 
true choice of the soul; that white-robed band of wit- 
nesses of Jesus Christ who joyfully suffered the last pen- 
alty for their convictions. 

It is not unlikely that he was drawing upon this reser- 
voir of power, his soul's sincere desire ascending in the 
aspiration that he might share the witness borne by them 
to the truth. 

It is possible that he might have been taking the path 
of Holy Job, found in the prayers for the vigil of St. 
Laurence: "My prayer is pure and therefore I ask that a 
place may be given to my voice in heaven ; for there is my 
judge: and He that knoweth my conscience is on high: 
let my prayer ascend to the Lord." 

After the lapse of a year, when we try to think of what 
really happened, out of all the shameful welter, there rises 
this truth triumphant: 

Whatever was true of Father Coyle's seventeen years 
among us is living today. His life's purpose was to obey 
his Master. The Cross initialed every page of his life as 
he daily turned it. Self-seeking and self-indulgence were 
unthinkable in connection with him. 



He had won the sublime ultimate victory of making 
sacrifice the voluntary choice of his soul, and when the 
assassin's bullet crashed into the brain engaged with His 
truth and His praise, God in His infinite mercy may have 
transmuted hate into kindness — may have turned the 
horrible act into a veritable answer to prayer. 

As if a last word to his grief-stricken friends, there 
scattered on the floor from the fallen breviary some bits 
of paper, favorite poems, prayers, and among them a book- 
mark such as Catholics use in their prayer books. It is 
not very clean. It is possible that it may have been car- 
ried in his breviary for some time. It is possible that a 
rude foot trod upon it before Hate fled from its debauch. 
There is a picture of the kneeling Christ in Gethsemane, 
and underneath the words: 

''My Father I accept everything; 
May I be condemned, but ?nay they 

be absolved, 
May I die but may they live 
Fiat voluntas tua." 

With this prayer in our hearts let us celebrate this 
anniversary. We may be patient. So long as the word 
"Birmingham" is spoken, so long will the name of Father 
Coyle be alive with all that it connotes. The eternal 
years of God belong to truth. We may be patient. 

This little volume of verse is for his friends. In it 
they will find the laughing face of the spirited Irish boy — 

"Whose mind was as a crystal brook 
Wherein clean creatures lived at ease." 

In it they will look into the grave eyes of the Priest 
with whitening hair offering to us "The fresh fragrance 
of God's consolations." 

In it they will find the fervor of the mystic and the 
fire of the patriot. 

It is superfluous to say that Father Coyle never con- 



templated publishing a book of poems. They are simply 
the spontaneous outgoing of his spirit into the world about 
him, the simple record of moments of feeling, a personal 
comment on days and events as they hurried by in his 
busy life. He was one 

"Who carried music in the heart 
Through dusky lane and wrangling mart." 

Let us treasure this little book not so much for liter- 
ature as for an aid in recalling a dear friend. 

May we see again his quick smile, his hand beckoning 
upward. 

With the earnest prayer that God may have mercy on 
his gallant and upright soul, let us read these verses "pon- 
dering them in the heart." 



Aug. 11, 1922. 



Isa6^ef /3(i£c(?(ii^ 



CONTENTS 



RELIGIOUS 

Page 

Aeroplane Musings 19 

Christmas 18 

Christmas Musings 8 

Eternal War, The 14 

Fear and Love 25 

Gloria in Excelsis et in Terra Pax 13 

Greatest Gift of Love, The 3 

In Te Speravi 2 

May's Fair Queen 21 

Meliora Probo Deteriora Sequor 10 

Ora Mater, Ora! 20 

Passing Thoughts 6 

Persecution 23 

Prayer, A 16 

Prayer to Mary, A 7 

Queen of May, The 15 

Roma Aeterna 11 

*To God 1 

To Mary 12 

*To a Friend, with a gift of Father Ryan's Poems. . . 22 

The Various Calls 17 

Why 5 



PATRIOTIC 

Day We Celebrate, The 47 

Day of Days, Year of Years 67 

Dreaming and Wishing 82 

Erin Triumphant 57 

Erin Resurgent 53 

Farewell, Old Land 38 

Far Awav 71 

*Gleam of Hope, A 29 

Has Erin's Warlike Spirit Flown? 39 

Higher Love, The 61 



Page 

Hope and a Prayer, A 30 

Home Longings 28 

How Long, O Lord 31 

Ireland's Apostle 32 

Irish Memories 81 

*Ivy Day 34 

Kevin Barry 59 

Latest Revolution, The 40 

Most Distressful Country, The 43 

Not Conquered Yet 44 

North and Donegal, The 35 

Old Refrain, The 70 

Our Land 36 

Parting, The 63 

Patrick's Day Dreaming 50 

*Patriotic Dreams 27 

Purging Fires 79 

Requiescat in Pace 55 

Resignation 65 

Rising Tide, The 51 

Romantic Ireland 49 

Royal Pope and Spanish Ale, The 73 

St. Patrick's Day and The Day 45 

St. Patrick's Day 72 

"Sinn Fein! Sinn Fein!" 52 

Spirit Lives, The 77 

To Erin Far Away 69 

Unconquered and Unconquerable 75 

Vanished Dreams 27 

Who Fears to Speak of Easter Week ? 42 

MISCELLANEOUS 

Birthday Wish, A 88 

"De Lingua Latina" 86 

District Nurse 90 

In Memoriam 89 

Knightly Columbus, The 91 

Proud, Prouder, Proudest 84 

Victory Day 85 

(*) Poems without titles. 



(COPYRIGHT APPLIED FOR) 



'And Oh, hozu glorious 'tis to work and aid the God of 

Love 
And ivin the thoughts of men from earth and center 

them above/' 



TO GOD* 

O dearest Savior, once again 

I come with deep humility; 
Lord lift my heart from thoughts of gain. 

Lord may I love thee, only thee. 
O Lord my heart is sordid, weak, 

My thoughts are sinful, wild, 
And vain, dear Lord, the words I speak, 

Yet Ah, I'm still thy child. 
I'm still thy child, I fain would rise 

To highest heights of love. 



[1] 



IN TE SPERAVI 



Lord, Thou hast guided me, O, Thou 

That ever at my side was near, 
Preserve and guard and keep me now, 
And trusting Thee, what shall 1 fear, 
What shall I fear 
When days are drear. 
And drear some days must be. 
If, Lord, with all my heart and soul 
I still can hope in Thee. 

Lord, Thou art wondrous in Thy ways 

And wondrous in Thy love ; 
Then, Lord, preserve me in these days, 
Those darksome da^^s, with love above, 
The love men love. 
That I may move 
From earthly friendships free. 
And faithful ever to Thy laws, 
Forever loving Thee. 

O Lord, I now desire Thy laws. 
But Lord, my heart, for gain. 
For wealth and for the world's applause, 
For sinful things and vain, 
For these are vain 
May strive and strain 
And heavenly wisdom flee, 
O Lord, with mercy infinite. 
Preserve my heart for Thee. 

Preserve my heart, that when at last 

Life's cares have fled away, 
And things of earth, so vain have passed, 
In heaven's eternal perfect day. 
Unchanging day, 
Thee, Lord, for aye, 
Thee, face to face I see, 
And praise through all eternity, 
The mercies, Lord, of Thee. 



[2] 



THE GREATEST GIFT OF LOVE 

I. 

Go back to fair Creation's dawn, 

When God first fashioned all; 
Go back to days of innocence, 

Before our parents' fall — 
God's love is shown on earth below 

So fair. The Heavens above 
Proclaim Him good. Can God give man 

More wondrous proof of love? 

n. 

For Man in that far distant day 

The earth its treasures yields. 
For Man the birds wing airy flight 

And creatures roam the fields; 
God made man master of the earth 

Below ; the Heavens above 
For man is fashioned. Surely God 

Can show no greater love. 

HI. 

Oh yes, Man fell; Heaven's gates are closed 

And sin and death is there, 
And naught is left to Adam's race 

But fear and dark despair; 
Our race is lost — the world is lost — 

But from the Heavens above 
God's Son came down, redeemed mankind. 

Can God show greater love? 



IV. 



God's Son came down, a helpless babe, 

And after years of pain 
And patient toil for sins of mea 

On Calvary's cross was slain; 
He died in torments, slain by man. 

O God in Heaven above, 
This, surely this, the greatest gift — 

Than this no greater love. 

[3] 



V. 



Ah, yes, a greater love than this, 

The greatest love of all. 
Love greater far than all the gifts 

Before the primal fall, 
A greater love than Calvary's cross — 

The Saviour from above 
Has left on earth the Sacred Host 

As greatest gift of love. 

VI. 

He left Himself in form of bread 

To be our heavenly food ; 
This greater far than bitter death. 

Endured on Calvary's rood — 
The Eucharist where Christ doth dwell 

Concealed gift from above, 
Is far the grandest, greatest gift. 

Most wondrous proof of love. 

VII. 

O Saviour, Christ, O gentle God, 

All weak and sinful we, 
In dark despair, in bitter pain. 

We come, dear Lord, to Thee ; 
We fly to Thee, Thou comest to us. 

From Heaven's bright throne above 
In form of bread : O greatest gift, 

O grandest proof of love! 

VIII. 

For only 'neath that lowly form 

Could we, sin stained, to Thee, 
Our dearest Lord, in reverence go — 

Poor wretched sinners we; 
And so than Thou, Thyself, dear Christ, 

Eternal Word above. 
Our loving Lord, our K''ig, out God — 

Than Thou no greater love. 



[4] 



WHY 

I have had dreams and curious dreams, 

And visions passing strange — 
On God, on man, on thought, on all 
On which the mind 
In airy flight. 
By day and night, 
Free, unconfined may range. 

Aye, curious dreams and visions sweet. 

And bitter have been mine, 
On all the mysteries of the world, 
So sweet, so fair, 
Withal so sad, 
So sadly glad, 
So stained by human crime. 

O, God! how wondrous are Thy ways! 

You've made Creation fair. 
You've made ten thousand glittering worlds, 
With wondrous power. 
For man's abode, 
And for his good. 
And yet, yet sin is there. 



[5] 



PASSING THOUGHTS 

I. 

Too swift come on the future years, 

The years that are to be. 
Too swift they come all fraught with tears 

And grief for you and me, 
For man's few years on earth below 

Are years of pain and biting woe. 

H. 

Ah yes, the years come surging on. 

Time will not, may not stay. 
E'en present time is past and gone 

And past and gone for aye 
They never may return, never. 

For years once fled are fled forever. 

HI. 

Ah God, how swiftly time doth fly 

We ne'er regard its flight 
And yet 'tis true that all too nigh 

Is death and darksome night 
For life's brief sun is one brief day 

And soon it fades and sinks away. 

IV. 

We do not think — a thoughtless crowd 

The fallen race of man 
Vain, selfish, fickle, fierce and proud. 

What myst'ry in God's plan 
We do not think ; in careless play 

We squander life's few hours away. 

V. 

We squander life in pomp and pride 

Nor heed the chast'ning rod 
And scornfully we cast aside 

The choicest gifts of God, 
And God be merciful, we ne'er 

Cry out in humble heartfelt prayer. 

[6] 



VI. 

Oh God, be merciful, Oh Thou 

Look down from Heaven above 
Look down, with gifts our race endow 

Contrition, faith and love. 
Grant us, Oh Lord, the grace to say 

Have mercy Lord — the grace to pray! 

VH. 

Grant us, Oh Lord, the grace to raise 

Our thoughts to Thee, that so 
Our mind in heartfelt hope and praise 

And love may overflow. 
Grant us. Oh Lord, or else we sink 

To nameless depths — the grace to think. 

(Mobile, 1898) 



A PRAYER TO MARY 

Oh Mary fair and Heavenly queen 
Look down, look down on me; 
Oh fairest queen the earth has seen 
Or ever earth shall see. 
Oh Mary, Mother, Mary mild, 
Look down on me thy sinful child. 

Oh Mary, Ark of burnished gold, 

Ark of the Lord's own law 

Whom Judah's seers in time of old 

In prophet vision saw 

Fair, Heavenly, stainless, fresh and free 

From dross of earth. Oh pity me. 

Oh Mary, Saints and bards and seers 

And sinners bowed with pain 

Have hailed thee nineteen hundred years 

Star of the stormy main. 

And, Mary, life's tempestuous sea 

Is wildly tossing, pity me. 



[7] 



Yes, Mother, pity me for wild 
And loud the billows roar ; 
And I, dear Mother, I, thy child, 
Have drifted far from shore 
But yet with confidence to thee 
I cry and thou canst calm the sea. 

Yes, Mother, I have sinned and weak 

And wayward, haughty, wild, 

I scorned God's call nor heard him speak; 

But Mother I'm thy child 

And Mother I have cried to thee 

And Mother thou wilt pity me. 

You'll pity me, dear Mother, so 

That when my time is done 

On earth below to Heaven I'll go. 

And there while ages run 

I'll sing and praise and worship thee 

My Queen throughout eternity. 

— (Fish River, March 28, '98) 



CHRISTMAS MUSINGS 

O, wondrous the love, 
That brought from above, 
The Lord of Creation to earth. 
'" A poor, helpless child. 
Meek, lowly and mild, 
Of wonderful virginal birth. 
And angels sang loud o'er Bethlehem's hill 
Tidings of gladness. Hark! list to it still, 
"Glory to God, peace to men of good will." 

O, gladsorne the morn 
That Infant was born 
On Bethlehem's manger of straw. 
And never I ween 
More wonderful scene 
When Joseph bends lowly in awe. 
Mary is praying her heart all aflame. 
Angels to shepherds the glad news proclaim. 
Leaving their flocks, o'er the hillsides they came. 



[8] 



O ! grand was the star, 

That led from afar, 
Three Magi from eastern clime, 

Wise men who now bring 

To the new-born King 
Gold, myrrh and the fragrance of thyme. 

Hark, still re-echoes that manger around, 
"Glory to God," still re-echoes the sound. 
"Glory to God; peace on earth shall abound." 



That poor lowly Babe, 
In mercy shall save 
A race that has forfeited all. 
A race, tempest tost. 
By sin all but lost. 
By pride and by Adam's first fall. 

That weak, helpless Babe is God, mighty, strong 
Therefore shall echo the ages along 
Jubilant strains of the angels' glad song. 



O, strange, strange, 'tis then. 

That men, sinful men, 
Can yet be indifferent, cold. 

Not hasten to greet 

And place at the feet 
Of the Babe, myrrh, incense and gold. 

The world is busy with various employ. 
It hears, but heeds not the anthems of joy, 
That evermore ring 'round the new-born Boy. 



But we, happy we, 

Today we shall see 
The Babe in the manger laid low, 

O, let us atone 

For faults of our own. 
For coldness, for sinfulness, so 

For us the message shall echo until 

Life's day is over. Hark, hark, hear it still, 

"Glory to God. Peace to men of good will 



[9] 



MELIORA probo. Deteriora sequor. 

Savior Christ ! I try in vain ! 
To love Thee with a perfect love, 
But earthly things, a heavy chain, 
Prevent my flight to heights above. 

1 try, but 'tis a broken flight 

I wing to heights beyond. Your laws, 
Dear Lord, I know of truth and right, 
But yet I weakly stand and pause. 

I stand and pause, when strong and bold 
I should stretch forw^ard firm and free. 
Dear Lord, my love is weak and cold 
I fain would serve, but serve not Thee. 

I fain would strive, my will is weak, 
I powerless stand as under spell. 
And I, I know betimes should speak, 
Speak, Lord, for Thee, and act as well. 

I know my every act should show 
My perfect love for Thee, Dear Lord, 
My thoughts should rise from things below 
To Thy sweet service and Thy Word. 

My thoughts and service should be thine. 
Thine, only Thine, no trace should be 
Of things of earth, of me, or mine. 
But all of Heaven, of Thine, of Thee. 

O! God of strength, Thy strength bestow, 
And make my service worthier Thee 
So that by serving Thee below. 
Thee, afterwards, for aye I see. 



[10] 



ROMA AETERNA 
1. 

There's a legend that's told, that when Jesus was born, 

And lay on the manger of straw. 
In a far away city, in Rome, on that morn, 

A vision the Emperor saw. 
He beheld in a crystal the scene of the birth. 

And its meaning flashed suddenly clear, 
And Augustus the Great, though the lord of the earth. 

Bowed to earth in an excess of fear. 

2. 

He saw that the Empire he builded wnth care 

Would pass like the leaves of the trees 
When winter winds whistle ; an empire more fair 

Would be builded that never would cease ; 
And Rome the Eternal be great for all time. 

Not because of Augustus the Mild, 
But as seat of an empire, vast, grand and sublime. 

To be founded by Jesus the Child. 

3. 

Augustus is gone and his empire o'erthrown 

And his palace crumbled away. 
And his deeds and his virtues unknown, or but known 

To the student of earlier day. 
While the Child ever lives, and today o'er the earth. 

With holiest paeans of joy 
Countless millions have gladness, because of the birth 

Of that wonderful Cave-born Boy. 

4. 

The grand gorgeous temples that towered to the sky. 

With marble and gold all aglow, 
By the Caesars once builded, now mouldering lie. 

Heaps of ruins, moss-mantled and low. 
Pagan glories have vanished, Rome's standards are furled, 

But by Tiber today is a dome. 
And the Child from the Vatican rules all the world. 

Through His vicar, the Pontiff of Rome. 

[11] 



TO MARY 

O Queen of Heaven, sweet Mother maid, 

Whom God's own Son loved and obeyed, 

Before whom saints and angels bend, 

O Mother Maid, O help, defend. 

Defend and guard from sin and stain 

My soul for which your Son was slain 

On Calvary's cross, long, long, ago. 

O Mother Maid, by all the woe. 

By all the pain you suffered then 

When Jesus died for sinful men. 

By all the woes, by all the tears 

That sin has caused through all the years, 

By all the wrongs that sin shall cause 

While men despise God's holy laws. 

While men refuse to hear the word 

That long ago the whole earth stirred. 

When Jesus on Judea's hills 

Preached, prayed, and healed our countless ills; 

By all your sorrows, Mother mine, 

So kind, so gentle, so benign. 

So loving to the sons of men. 

Sweet Mary, Mother, guard me then, 

Protect, defend me from the snare 

Of Satan, guard me everywhere, 

And every place and every time 

My whole life long, whatever clime. 

Whatever land I chance to rove, 

Sweet Mother, guard me, may I love 

And reverence thee and thy great Son, 

My God and thine, the Holy One, 

And dying loving Him and thee, 

Love both throughout eternity. 



[12] 



GLORIA IN EXCELSIS ET IN TERRA PAX 

The wintry winds blew chill and cold 

Across Judean hills ; 
'Tis night: the shepherds at the fold 
Tell tales of David's warriors, told 
Oft, oft before ; when, lo, behold, 

A dazzling light, and music fills 
The air around, and then 
From angel choirs ascend the strain 
That swelled and throbbed and swelled again, 
"Glory to God in the Highest and Peace on Earth to 
Men." 

That night a kingly train moved slow 

Through Israel's wondering land ; 
Whence come they, whence, and whither go. 
These kings from eastern climes, that slow 
A guiding star leads onward ? So 

They reach the cave, and stand 
In w^ondering awe, and then 
Adoring, worship Him they sought. 
The new-born King, the King that brought 
"Glorv to God in the Highest and Peace on Earth to 
Men." 

Since then, o'er earth, from torrid climes 
To Arctic snows, glad joyous chimes 

For centuries long have rung. 
And we today again 
Send back to Heaven, our hearts aflame, 
A thrill with love, with glad acclaim 

The song by angels sung. 

Hark, swells anew the strain! 
The angels' song, that rings, shall ring 
O'er all the earth for earth shall sing 

That strain for aye ; oh, then. 
Fling back the song, the Heavenly song 
That o'er all ages rolls along, 

"Glory to God in the Highest and Peace on Earth to 
Men." 



[13] 



THE ETERNAL WAR 



The Son of God of Old came down. He loved man- 
kind, He died ; 

He died, an outcast of the race, derided, crucified. 

He told the twelve whom He had called to bear the 
gospel flame 

To every land, that they, as He, should suffer deaths of 
shame. 

They, too, as He, should bear the cross, forsaken be by all ; 
They, too, should climb the Mount of Pain, and drain 

the dregs of gall. 
They, too, as He, should toil and dree; they, too, find at 

the end 
Fond hopes dashed low, Love's labor lost, and kiss of 

treacherous friend. 

Thank God for this, for clearest sign, we follow where 

He trod. 
The world's mad hate for certain shows our Church the 

Church of God. 
In every age, in every land. North, South, and East and 

West, 
Fierce Persecution's wTath assails the holiest and the best. 

Thank God, thank God for chastening rod, for suffering 

and woe. 
It shows we stand w^here once stood Christ, the Master, 

long ago. 
Forever 'gainst His holy Church the olden \%ir is waged. 
And rages now 'gainst us the hate that 'gainst the Savior 

raged. 

That hate caused woe and pain, and oh, it crucified the 
Lord. 

It racked the very soul of Christ, it thrust the seven- 
edged sword 

Through Mary's heart, when fled the twelve, in fear and 
dire dismay. 

And all seemed lost, all dark, and then. Ah, then dawned 
Easter day. 

[14] 



So, too, for us, for all who tread the path the Man God 
trod, 

For all who follow Christ a crown, but first the chasten- 
ing rod. 

Christ's Church, and we who follow Christ had, have, 
shall have, for aye 

Good Friday's doom. Good Friday's gloom, and then,— 
then Easter day. 



THE QUEEN OF MAY 

The grass is green, the flowers bloom fair ; 

Blue are the skies the livelong day ; 
Sweet song bird warble fills the air — 

All nature greets the Queen of May ; 

All nature hails the Queen of May. 

Yes, rustling leaves and springing flowers 
And song of bird and lambkins' play, 

E'en zephyr breeze and summer showers, 
Pay homage to the Queen of May ; 
They greet and hail the Queen of May. 

Fair Queen of May, sweet Mother maid. 
Fair Virgin Mother, may we lay 

Before thy shrine the gifts that laid 

The saints of old, sweet Queen of May? 
Bless thou our gifts fair Queen of May. 

O Queen! O Mother! maid most fair, 
May we, thy children, e'en as they, 

In trust and faith and fervent prayer 

In hojDe and love, sweet Queen of May, 
Greet thee and hail thee, Queen of May. 



[15] 



A PRAYER 

O dearest Lord, for me in love, 
You left your throne in Heaven above. 
You came on earth, my food to be ; 
O make my heart aflame for Thee. 

O Lord of Heaven and Savior mine. 
Whose love is truly all divine; 
While love of mine is weak and low, 

Love, make my poor love to glow. 

Lord, Savior, Christ, I beg of Thee 
This boon, this only give to me; 
Make my poor heart with love to flame, 
O, grant this by Thy Blessed Name. 

1 fain would love Thee, Lord of all. 
But weak, I falter, weak, I fall; 

I fain would love Thee, Savior mine. 
But ah, a thousand ties entwine. 

A thousand ties my heart enchain. 
To rend which, ah, the bitter pain. 
And yet, O Savior, you for me. 
Hung naked on the bloody tree. 

You gave up all my soul to win ; 
Shall I not then arise from sin? 
Shall I not kiss the chastening rod, 
And follow where your footsteps trod? 

Savior, Christ, O God above, 

1 love Thee, and I yearn to love 
Thee more and more ; O make me see 
How I may love Thee, only Thee. 

And for Thy love contented be. 
Nailed to the wood of mine own tree. 
To bear such pangs as once for me 
You bore on road to Calvary, 
This, Jesus mine, grant graciously. 

[16] 



THE VARIOUS CALLS 

A call, a loud, clear call rang out, 
And to the ranks with joyous shout 
Of "Deutschland uber alles," ran 
The Teuton hosts, nor lacked a man. 
All, all replied, in arms they stand, 
For Kaiser and the Fatherland. 

A call rang out, and, at the word. 

Each Frenchman grasped his father's sword. 

The sons of those, who in the day 

Of great Napoleon, brought dismay 

To Europe's courts, now brave advance. 

To fight and die for "la belle France." 

A call rings through Italia's hills. 

And through the vales. Mad ardor fills 

Her sons' hot souls. They leave their fields. 

They grasp, as grasped their sires, the shields 

In Caesar's olden day. From far 

And near, Italians rush to war. 

A call rings through the Austrian land. 
And all at once hand grasped the hand 
Of erstwhile foe ; against the foe 
The diverse tongues and tribes all go ; 
Beneath Franz Josef's flag they swear 
All men may dare, to do and dare. 

A trumpet call through Russian plains, 
Through Russia's steppes and wide domains 
Rings loud and clear. When rings the call 
The Slav leaves land and kin and all. 
'*The Little Father" calls, and lo. 
No Russian hesitates to go. 

Hark, hark, for us loud sounds a call! 
The Master calls His subjects all. 
Our Captain calls; it must not be 
He calls in vain for you and me. 
We must not ever backward lag, 
No, w^e must rally 'neath the flag. 

■[17] 



Hark, hark, the call! It rings aloud, 
It fills the world. Oh yes, glad, proud, 
We harken to that call; we come. 
Nor need we trumpet blare or drum. 
We come with joy, with glad acclaim, 
The legions of "The Holy Name." 

CHRISTMAS 

Oh, what does it mean this Christmas feast, 
What memories does it bring? 

It brings to our minds the night of nights. 
When Christ was born, our King. 

And the glory of God shone round about, 
And angel choirs did sing. 

We see again the midnight cave, 

The Virgin bending low. 
Her babe, a helpless babe, lies there. 

He comes to save from woe 
The sinful world. O love divine 

That never earth may know! 

And Joseph just stands in amaze 

And hears with wondering awe 

The weird strange tale that shepherds tell 
Of all they heard and saw. 

As they bend low and hail as King 
A babe, on throne of straw. 

And see, oh see, a kingly train 

To where these just ones are 

Led on and on, and ever on. 
From eastern lands afar. 

With incense, gold, and fragrant myrrh. 
Led by a wondrous star. 

These, these, the memories Christmas brings, 

Glad memories and bright. 
May he, the Christ, the helpless babe. 

Helpless — nay, the God of might 
Bless you, bless me, bless all of us. 

This happy Christmas night. 

[18]' 



AEROPLANE MUSINGS 

God, Thou art great in Thy works! on high, 
Far, far in the clouds, in Thy azure sky, 
Aloft from the earth with its noise and din, 
Aloft, far aloft from the soil of sin, 
Oh, how glorious to rush on the wings of wind, 
And to leave the world and its cares behind ! 

How glorious to speed through the bracing air ! 
Oh, God, Thy Creation is wondrous and fair! 
Fair are Thy clouds as we skim along, 
And my spirit breaks out in gladsome song. 
A song to Thy praise, great Lord above, 
Of praise and of awe and of sacred love. 

And I gaze below at the woods and the hills, 

And the rivers and streams and sparkling rills. 

Oh, the earth is a picture of beauty grand, 

As fair as when first it came fresh from Thy hand, 

In the olden days when You fashioned the earth. 

And the stars and the sun had their wonderful birth. 

Lord of the earth, of the sea, of the air. 

In homage I bow, how wondrous fair 

Must the blessed abodes be, since here below 

Thy works with such wonderful beauty glow! 

Such beauty, such grandeur in sky and in cloud, 

Oh! in homage my heart sings its praises aloud! 

Lord, one day I shall pass from this beauty below, 
From the beauty of valleys and cloudlands that glow, 
From the beauty of sunlight and starlight and sea. 
And sunrise and sunset, of flower and of tree ; 
Grant, O Lord ! when I go I shall go where all this 
Is but a mere shadow of Heaven's great bliss. 

Fair, fair is the world, fair earth, cloud and sky, 

But all this shall pass, all shall wither and die, 

The sun shall be darkened, the stars pass away, 

For the lot of Creation is death and decay. 

And Heaven alone is eternal and true. 

The Heaven, dear Lord, where Thy beauties we view. 

[19] 



Thy beauty, great Lord, is beyond all compare, 

But today as I speed through Thy clouds and Thy air 

I catch a small glimpse, I see a faint ray, 

Ah, surely Thy Heaven is not far away. 

For the glories around and below and above 

Seem to mirror Thy beauties. Thy power and Thy love. 



ORA, MATER, ORA! 

O Queen of Heaven, sweet Mother maid, 

Whom God's own Son loved and obeyed. 

Before whom saints and angels bend, 

O Mother maid, Oh help defend, 

Defend and guard from sin and stain 

My soul for which your Son was slain 

On Calvary's cross, long, long ago. 

O Mother maid, by all the woe, 

By all the pain you suffered then 

When Jesus died for sinful men ; 

By all the woes, by all the tears 

That sin has caused in all the years 

By all the wrongs that sin shall cause 

While men despise God's holy laws. 

While men refuse to hear the word 

That long ago the whole earth stirred 

When Jesus on Judea's hills 

Preached, prayed and healed our countless ills 

By all your sorrows. Mother mine, 

So kind, so gentle, so benign, 

So loving to the sons of men, 

Sweet Mary, Mother, guard me then. 

Protect, defend me from the snare 

Of Satan, guard me everywhere. 

And every place, and every time, 

My whole life long, whatever clime. 

Whatever land I chance to rove, 

Sweet Mother guard me. May I love 

And reverence thee, and thy great Son, 

My God and thine, the Holy One, 

And dying, loving Him and thee. 

Love both throughout eternity. 



[20] 



MAY'S FAIR QUEEN 

From yonder topmost swaying limb, 

A feathered songster gay, 
Is pouring forth his matin hymn, 

A gladsome roundelay. 
And voicing sweet the praises meet 

Of Mary, Queen of May. 

O Mother Maid! O Queen most dear, 

We greet you joyously 
This fairest month of all the year 

We dedicate to thee. 
Than these all fair, beyond compare, 

None could more holy be. 

O Mary blessed Maiden mild. 

Look on us here below. 
Look on us. Mother of the Child 

That saved the world from woe. 
Look on us pray, this month of May, 

And love and mercy show. 

O Mary dear! 'tis thee we love, 

'Tis thee we hail today 
'Tis thee we greet our Queen above, 

Our Queen, our Queen alway. 
Oh, ne'er was seen so fair a queen. 

Nor month so fair as May. 

Oh, sure this month's the fairest far, 
It robes in green the trees. 

The budding flowers the fields bestar, 
God's balm is on the breeze. 

With garlands gay, thee, Queen today. 
We crown of lands and seas. 

You're queen this month of all the earth, 
And none will you gainsay. 

Sweet Mother, who, to Christ gave birth 
The first glad Christmas day. 

O Mother Sweet, thy children greet 
Thee, Queen, fair Queen of May. 

[21] 



O, Mary Mother, look with love 
Look down with love today. 

Look down with love from Heaven above, 
On us who kneel and pray. 

And who say that you the Queen shall be 

Of the fairest month the year shall see. 

The month when all the world is gay, 
The month of mirth and roundelay. 

Hail Mary, hail fair Queen of May. 



TO A FRIEND 

{With a gift of Father Ryans Poems) 

Dear friend accept this book of song 

I've read, re-read, I've pondered long, 

I've burned the midnight oil in vain 

I've tried to read the meaning true 

Of him who voiced the Southland's pain, 

But Ah, beyond the etherial blue 

The meanings flow. His lays are sweet 

His songs are tuned to noblest themes; 

He, priest of God, dreamed priestly dreams. 

The which to utter were not meet — 
The which to utter would be wrong, 
And so elusive swings his song, 
But yet we may a meaning scan 
When man among men he sang to man 
When with the patriot love aglow 
He poured his scorn on Northern foe 
And when he sang to children small 
Ah, there the poet sings to all. 

But souls that seek the good and true, 
That love the God of Love, 
May pierce beyond the etherial blue, 
May find the meaning he so wove 
In words so sweet, in words divine 
And so his book of songs and lays 
Of love, and of the Southland's grays, 
I give to thee, dear friend of mine. 



[22] 



PERSECUTION 

When the gentle Christ walked the earth of yore in the 

olden, long ago, 
He was scorned and despised, offcast of men, the Man of 

Sorrow and woe. 
A bihbler of wine, a breeder of strife was He called, w^ho 

from above 
Came down on earth to give the earth God's greatest 

proof of love. 

"They have hated Me, you will they hate, for My dis- 
ciples ye ; 

You will suffer all, you have left all things, all things to 
follow Me. 

Me they \v\\\ raise on the tree aloft, in anguish and bitter 
pain. 

My Father's chalice I needs must drink; you too, the cup 
shall drain." 

It was even so as the Christ foretold, for one by one they 
died. 

The Twelve were flayed, lance-pierced, starved, stoned, 
beheaded, crucified. 

The Apostles fell, but passed along the faith, pure, stain- 
less, true. 

And lo, that faith lives bright today, the faith professed 
by you ! 

You hold the faith, the old true faith Christ gave the 
Twelve of yore. 

The faith they carried far and w^ide, from shore to fur- 
thermost shore. 

The glorious faith, that, age by age, unsullied, pure and 
true 

Was handed down from sire to son, your fathers handed 
vou. 



[23] 



Oh, thanks to the Christ that we today are the sons of 

nohlc sires, 
That we endure, as they endured, iierce persecution's fires. 
Vnv this proves clear to Heaven and earth that God's own 

trutli hold we, 
And for that are we scour^i^ed ; Truth ever is scour}2;ed, 

whiU' lOrror is flattered and free. 

We suffer today; well, so did the Christ, and so did the 
Twelve who ho re 

The niessa}i;e of Christ from Jerusalem to Britain's dis- 
tant shore ; 

So did our sires in the a,tz;es afi;one who handed the truth 
down free 

l^'rom error and taint ; thank (lod, thank God, that worthy 
to suffer are we! 

Let's joyously then take the cross of the Christ; let's hear 

with the scoff and the scorn ; 
(lood I' riday comes first, and Calvary's cross, and then, 

then the ^lad Easter morn. 
Ivct's take up the cross and hold fast to the faith, the 

faith without taint or alloy. 
I'wst comes the Cross and then the Crown. Comes suffer- 

inti; first, and then joy. 



241 



FEAR AND LOVK 

The Lord came d(jwn on Sinai's Mount, and roared the 

thunder loud, 
And earthquakes rocked the tremhh"n^ earth, and flashed 

the lij^htnin^ cloud, 
And Israel's children, in the plain, heard with adoring 

awe, 
Jehovah's vcjice prrjclaim to man His own eternal law. 

Our Lord came down in after years, not as on Sinai's 

Hill, 
But mild and gentle came the Christ His mission to fulfill. 
To win from earth the hearts of men, to center them 

above. 
To banish fear, to spread the law of faith and hope and 

love. 



Lord, Thou art wondrous in Thy ways; of (Ad the thun- 
der pealed. 

Inspiring awe and fear and dread, and then came Christ, 
and healed 

All sickness, sorrow, suffering; He took our sins and died 

An offcast from the race of men, derided, crucified. 

O Lord, inspire this heart of mine with love or dread of 

Thee, 
And Sinai's Mount, or Calvary's Mount, may I, 1 pray 

Thee, see ; 
And may 1 hear that threatening voice, or that sweet 

voice so mild. 
That blessed with love and gentleness each little, simple 

child. 

God, grant me grace to do Thy will, through love, if 

that may be, 
Hut if Thy love pierce not my heart, fill me with dread 

of Thee ; 
And whether love or whether dread, by Thee be gracious 

given, 
Grant that I love in after life Thee, G(jd, my Lord, in 

Heaven. 



[25] 



'Is this the end of Ireland's night, 

Is the long-dreajued-of day dawn niffhr' 



PATRIOTIC DREAMS* 

Dreamy, wondrous dreams were mine of old, 
Not dreams of winning gem or gold, 
Not dreams of saving maiden fair 
From villian's wile or ogre's lair. 

But dreams that one day I would see 
Erin my loved land great and free. 
Oh, every dream I dreamed of yore, 
Were dreams of thee, Machree asthore. 

My every thought by night or day 
Were thoughts of finding some sure way 
E'en though the way meant blood and pain 
To win you freedom once again. 



VANISHED DREAMS 

God, where are the ideals grand 

I dreamed in youth's fond day? 
Where are they vanished? I had planned 
Full many a deed for native land. 
And now my hair is gray. 

My years have sped. Time flies apace, 

My youth's wild fire burns low, 
And all the dreams for Ireland's race, 
Of warrior men, of freedom's place 

In nations' roll are dreams. Ah, so. 

So wills the Lord, and God knows best, 

God high in Heaven above. 
His will be done. His law be blest, 
And I submit to wait, to rest. 

In patience, hope and love. 

[27] 



HOME LONGINGS 

The old diary that has some jottings of my first years 
in this country, a missionary priest in South Alabama, 
contains many observations and reflections that I smile at 
now when reading over. One day when rather home- 
sick, being only a few months from Ireland, I penned the 
following at Coden (Coqd'Inde) a beautiful little resort 
on the Mexican Gulf where I said mass once a month : 

Ah, fresh and fair the south wind blows. 

From off the Southern sea. 
Around many a nodding rose, 

Fair fragrance flings at me. 
And I sit here in lazy guise. 

This lazy summer day 
And gaze on Coden's brilliant skies, 

And Coden's beauteous bay. 

And ne'er I ween so fair a scene 

As this on which I gaze. 
Far to the front, an islet green 

Set in this bay of bays. 
And far as ever eye can reach 

Pass many a bayou small, 
With soothing music on the beach. 

The wavelets murmuring fall. 

A soothing sound comes to mine ear 

From of¥ the beauteous bay ; 
And I lie listless, lazy, here 

On this glad summer day. 
And pondering dream of by gone times 

And glorious days to be, 
'Neath other skies in other climes. 

In Ireland o'er the sea. 

And musing here by Coden's strand, 

I think what leagues of main 
Between me lie and that dear land 

I ne'er may see again. 
And memory brings me many a scene 

Of olden days gone by. 
Of happy days in Erin green. 

Beneath her dark gray sky. 

[28] 



Erin, yes, Coden is fair, 

My Southern friends are true, 
But ah, dear native land, 1 care, 

P'or you, forever you. 
Ah, you are ever in my thought 

Your hills I ever see. 
Where Irish heroes bled and fought 

And died, dear land, for thee. 

Ah, yes, Coden is fair, the bay. 
The bayous, isle and strand 

Are beautiful. No poet's lay 
Can tell how passing grand 

The glorious scene that round me lies, 
But ah, I ever see 

These beauties all with listless eyes. 

1 dream all day of Irish skies. 

O Erin gra machree, 
My heart's away in Erin fair. 
Fair passing, fair beyond compare. 

Ah, Erin's isle for me, for me. 



A GLEAM OF HOPE* 

Oh, memories of the glorious past 
When Brian smote the Dane 

What glamour round the isle you cast 
The glamour shall for aye remain 

No hill, no vale, no glen, no mead, 

But rings with some past glorious deed. 

Then when the Norman robber came 

O sad and bitter day 
With rapine red with sword and flame 

He won his robber way. 
But Oh, thank God at last we see 
The end of that red infamy. 



[29] 



A HOPE AND A PRAYER 

Is this, dear Lord, this gleam of light 

That brightens up the dull dark sky, 

Is this the end of Ireland's night, 

Is the long dreamed-of day-dawn nigh ? 



Shall all her future see glad years? 
Shall she at last the harvest know 

Of all her blood, of all her tears? 

O God ! deep sorrow did she sup 

That long, long night of sorrow's pall, 

Drained to the dregs the bitter cup 

Drank to the dregs the draught of gall. 

Yet, slaughtered though her children lay. 
Her courage, faith, trust, did not fail, 

She sensed the Dawning of the Day 

Serene and calm ; her soul was Gael. 

Gael, with the Gaelic hope and trust, 

She looked to God with streaming eyes, 

In knowledge that her God was just. 
And that the Day-dawn must arise. 

So all the night she carried on 

The fight in hope, nor ceased to pray 

That night might pass and day might dawn. 
And Freedom come in God's own way. 

And now, dear Lord, there is a gleam. 

The darkness lessens ; can it be 
That realized will be the dream 

That breaks the dawn of Liberty? 

God grant it ; yet, if England's might 

That light will quench and night fall drear. 

And still be waged the centuried fight, 
God, grant her grace to persevere! 

— (August, 1921) 

[30] 



HOW LONG, O LORD? 

Having received many flattering comments on the lines, 
"The Priest," taken from an old diary, and having been 
asked to take another look to see if there was anvthing 
else that might be published, I came across the following 
lines, written some years since when crossing the Atlantic 
on a vessel that brought a large number of Irish emi- 
grants to these shores. Since these lines were written 
brighter days have dawned for the Old Land and the 
home rule bill will, when it becomes a law, keep the Irish 
youth at home to develop the many undeveloped resources 
of their own land. 

— Jas. E. Coyle. 



They are going, they are going, the young, the 

fair, the strong. 
They are going, they are going, how long, O 

Lord, how long; 
How long shall cruel England drive our Irish 

far away? 
O! when, great God, shall dawn for her the 

great accounting day? 

Aye, there they go, fair buxom girls from Irish 

dales and hills. 
They go, by England driven, to the swelling 

new world mills ; 
They go to crowded cities, haunts of sin, and 

shame, and crime, 
Great God, how long shall this go on? Is there 

no vengeance time? 

And there they go, the nation's youth, erect, and 

strong, and brave. 
Great Heavens, to think that these must fill n 

distant foreign grave! 
Great Heavens, to think of these brave boys, 

driven far from kith and kin, 
1 distant lands, to crowded marts, to suffering, 

pain, and sin ! 

[31] 



And surely never cried to Heaven a crime like 

this I see, 
That called for louder vengeance, Avenging 

God, to Thee, 
Our Irish boys and Irish girls forced far away 

to roam 
From Fatherland, from Ireland, from parents, 

friends and home. 

Ah, yes, it cries aloud to Heaven, this greatest, 

deadliest crime. 
Our Lord is patient, but we know He, watching, 

bides His time. 
'We know that vengeance He doth keep, we 

know our God is strong 
To smite the dire oppressor, but Lord God, 

how long, how long? 



IRELAND'S APOSTLE 

In Pagan darkness, long, long years, 

Dear Erin, lovely island, lay. 
Till Patrick came; the island hears 

The gospel truth, and fades away 
The olden rite. Hell's power he broke. 

And where his sainted footsteps trod 
False altars fall, and Druid oak 

Is hewn to make a church for God. 

The pagan fires that powers of ill 

Had lighted once in praise of Bel 
Saint Patrick quenched. On every hill 

He raised the sign abhorr'd of Hell — 
The cross — dear symbol of the Lord 

Who died for men on Calvary's height 
Now high is raised on Irish sward, 

Saint Patrick's standard in the fight. 



[32] 



O Patrick, wondrous saint and sage, 

Before whom pagan temples fall, 
Your name will live in every age ; 

Apostle, you, like fiery Paul 
You, who in pity and in ruth, 

Brought to old Ireland o'er the foam 
The saving light, the gospel truth 

Sent by Pope Celestine of Rome. 

We, sons of sires you taught of old ; 

We, Irish of this later day, 
We prize that faith beyond or gold, 

Or wealth, or power that fades away. 
Yes, we'll endure the prison chain. 

The rock, the gyve, the scourge, the rod. 
But faithful ever still remain, 

And loyal to the Church of God. 

Our fathers stood 'gainst English hate 

They spurned and scorned the English gold ; 
They bravely dared the direst fate, 

They suffered sufferings untold ; 
But e'er held bright the saving light 

Saint Patrick brought across the sea. 
That faith today is shining bright, 

And shining bright will ever be. 

Oh ! Patrick, keep our faith as pure 

As when you preached on Tara's hill, 
Give us the strength to all endure. 

To suffer all, but keep faith still, 
As brightest heritage, as boon. 

As earnest of the Heaven to be ; 
And, Patrick, may the day dawn soon 

That ends old Ireland's slavery. 

Oh, free the land from England's thrall, 

And give us days like ancient days. 
When harps hymned loud through Tara's hall 

The great Creator's love and praise. 
But now the grand old faith is banned 

By hated England, may we see 
Full soon fair freedom bless the land, 

O Patrick, make the old land free! 

[33] 



IVY DAY* 



Once more the daj^ returns, once more, 
From central vale to sounding shore, 

In sorrow and in grief, 
We, Irishmen together come, 
And every joyous tone is dumb. 
But crepe and wreath and muffled drum. 

Do homage to the Chief. 

Pays homage to our Chieftain gone, 
Our still procession marching on, 

So silent, sad and slow. 
Here hushed is every idle tone. 
And here nor jest nor smile is known. 
But still and stern and silent grown, 

To Parnell's grave we go. 

Round Parnell's grave in sorrow stand, 
And, ah, it is a tribute grand 

To him we yearly bring. 
To him who strove long years to rend 
The chains from Erin's limbs; to bend 
Tyrannic laws. He was our friend, 

Our Chief, Our Uncrowned King. 

So Chieftain, year by year we swear 
All that you dared to also dare. 

Like you to ever be, 
Stern righters of our country's woes. 
Stern haters of our country's foes. 
Like you, these foes to deal strong blows. 
Until in tranquil fair repose. 

The entire world shall see. 
With beauteous fair and radiant mien. 
The little Emerald Isle of green, 
The earth's delight, the ocean's green. 
Fair, happy, prosperous and serene, 

A nation great and free. 



•Written in 1896; refers to yearly procession to 
Parnell's grave, the participants wearing ivy 
boutonniers. 

[34] 



THE NORTH AND DONEGAL 

Another leaf from the old "Diary of Doings and Roam- 
ings in Rome," penned one summer day in the long ago, 
when on an Italian field, a big six-foot giant from Done- 
gal captained a team of Irish and Americans and led it 
to glorious victory over a combination team from the 
English and Scotch colleges. "That's the way my an- 
cestors licked yours, under Hugh O'Donnell!" he shouted 
after a hard fought victory. "God send us a day like 
this, only with steel and cannon in the old land." The 
poor fellow is now no more. He contracted tubercu- 
losis, and after a few tedious years of lingering went to 
his reward. Requiescat in pace. 

— James E. Coyle. 

Hurrah! Hurrah! for the gallant North! 

Hurrah for Donegal! 
Hurrah! hurrah for its men of worth! 

Hurrah for each and all! 
Hurrah! Hurrah! for the Northern men, 

Oh, they're a gallant band 
That ever fought with sword and pen 

For faith and fatherland. 

From Donegal's wild mountains 

Came forth the gallant Hugh, 
Who, with his valiant gallow-glass, 
From every Northern glen and pass 

Chased forth the Saxon crew, 
And all but freed our dear old land 

From hated English thrall. 
Hurrah ! Hurrah ! for his gallant band, 

They came from Donegal. 

Hurrah!! Hurrah! for the chiefs of old, 

Hurrah for the older days! 
Hurrah ! hurrah for the warriors bold. 
Who fought and bled for the green and gold. 

To the gallant North all praise ; 
For the gallant North against England fought, 

In field and chieftains' hall. 
Hurrah ! Hurrah ! true men were they, 

Those times in Donegal. 

[35] 



True men were they, true men are those 

In Donegal today, 
True men to fight the self-same foes 
Who fight today and deal their blows 

As sturdily as they. 
True men to fight the good old fight, 
The fight of Right, against England's might, 

And England's hated thrall. 
Hurrah for the gallant North! Hurrah! 

Hurrah for Donegal! 

Then hip, hurrah for the Northern land ! 

And hip, hurrah for Donegal! 

And hip, hurrah for each and all! 
Who fought with pen or sword in hand. 
Who fought, who fight for Fatherland, 

Hurrah for each and all! 
Hurrah ! hurrah for the Northern land, 

Hurrah for Donegal! 



OUR LAND 

There's a land far away, long leagues o'er the sea. 
That land is, of all lands, the dearest to me. 
'Tis the land of my birth, my own island home. 
The land where my heart turns wherever I roam. 

dearest of lands, land, so far, far away, 
Dear land that I dream of, by night and by day. 
The land of sweet valleys, of mountains and streams, 

1 visit that land, day and night, in my dreams. 

I visit the land, and I roam o'er the dales, 
I ramble o'er hillsides, through valleys and vales. 
1 stand on the field, by that dark river's side. 
Where, fighting for freedom, my forefathers died. 

In days long gone by, when the Sassenach came, 
An ravaged the old land with sword and with flame. 
And wrought dire destruction, then, Erin Machree, 
My fathers fought bravely, but vainly, for thee. 



[36] 



They fought and they fell, sad indeed was the fate, 
Of the many who fell in black ninety eight. 
But blessed be God, though they fell in the fray, 
Their spirit is living in Ireland today. 

Their spirit is living, 'tis carried along, 

In Ireland, in story, in music, in song. 

In vain England's efforts have been, and will be, 

Our people still rightfully fight to be free. 

The race now is scattered. Oh, where you will go, 
From tropical islands to Arctic bleak snow. 
East, South, West and North, wheresoever you sail, 
You will find scattered sons of the sea-severed Gael. 

And tonight o'er the world, our kinsmen have met. 
To Erin, loved Erin, their faces are set. 
And gathered together, wherever they be. 
They stretch hands of greeting across every sea. 

They pledge, let us join in the pledge, that one day, 
One day, may that time be not distant away, 
One day, if needs be, our full duty as men. 
We will do to make "Ireland a Nation" again. 



[37] 



FAREWELL, OLD LAND 

Farewell, Old Land, I'm leaving, 
Fm leaving and Fm grieving, 

Ah, sure, 'twas ever so. 
But, dear Old Land, Oh, never 
From you my heart will sever, 
Fll love you, ever, ever, 

Where e'er o'er earth I go. 

Dear Land of mine, long, long ago, 
I dreamed one day to strike a blow 

To aid to set you free. 
To aid in ending English thrall, 
But, dear Old Land, a higher call 
Was sent me by the Lord of all, 

Who said, "Come, follow Me." 

So, dear Old Land, the warrior sword 
I ne'er may gird ; I heard the word. 

That called me and I fly, 
I fly to join the Master's band, 
That labors on a foreign strand ; 
But, Erin, my loved native land. 
Where'er I be, on land or sea. 
While vital breath is breathed by me. 
To thee, with love Fll ever yearn. 
For thee with love my heart will burn. 

Fll love thee till I die. 



(On board Steamship Adriatic, September 27, 1913.) 



[38] 



HAS ERIN'S WAR-LIKE SPIRIT FLOWN? 



Has Erin's war-like spirit flown? 

Are Erin's sons but slaves today? 
And bend they now before the throne 

Of England's king, and fealty pay? 

What! Can it be? Foregetful they 
Of all their country's storied wrong, 
And do they now bend down and fawn, a base and catiif 
throng? 

Can they forget the storied past 

That rann and tale hand down? 
How Erin's chiefs fought to the last. 

Her chieftains brave of great renown ; 

Have they forgotten Limerick town? 
Have they aside the memory cast 

Of famed Benburb, and stout Athlone, and blood-drench- 
ed MuUaghmast? 

Oh, surely, from their burial shroud 

The mighty dead of bygone days 
Would rouse in shame, and cry aloud 

In wrath, that their descendants praise 

The foul oppressor. In amaze 
The mighty chiefs would see them cowed. 
What would they think, Owen, Roe, Red Hugh, and 
Shane O'Neill the Proud? 

But oh, thank God, thank God who knows 

At most a wretched few 
Forget the past, the gyves, the blows, 

The scoffs, the sneers their fathers knew, 

We, we today to Erin true 

The old, old vow once more renew, 
Our father's vow. 'Tis thus it goes: 
'Tor Erin love and loyalty, and deathless hate for Erin's 
foes." 



[39] 



THE LATEST REVOLUTION 

Hark! Hark, may'st hear across the sea, 

The tramp, the march of patriot men. 
For lo! old Ireland's chivalry 

Have roused to wage the fight again! 
The old, old fight their fathers fought, 

To deal for Erin's sake a blow, 
To die, perchance, but first, please God, 

To vengeance wreak on Saxon foe. 

The spirit of the martyred men 

That drenched with blood the Wexford hills 
Has not forever passed. Again 

It glows, it flames. All Ireland thrills 
Today. The men of ninety-eight 

Call to their sons adown the years 
To pay the Saxon debt long due, 

For butchered sires, for maidens' tears 

Their sons today in Dublin Town 

Have raised the old flag floating high, 
The sons of sires of high renown 

They too, today, will do, will die. 
They too will die, if die they must. 

But first they'll wage full valiantly 
The olden fight, the centuried fight, 

For Erin's rights, for liberty. 

From every land, to Erin dear. 

From every land where Gaels now dwell, 
Is sped good wishes, words of cheer. 

Would we were there, on field, on fell. 
In town and fort to do our part, 

To help with brain and battle brand 
The patriots true, who, — grant it. Lord, — 

Will free from thrall the dear old land. 



These lines were written on Easter Tuesday. What 
happened since then is history. The Rebellion has been 
quenched in the blood of Ireland's best and bravest. 
England, with the savage ferocity she always uses to- 
wards Ireland, has shot the leaders and the signers of the 

[40] 



Declaration of Independence. Thank God for her stu- 
pidity. As the blood of the early martyrs was the seed 
of the Catholic Church, so the blood of the latest on the 
long roll of Ireland's sainted dead, will keep fresh and 
green the plant of Ireland's aspiration to Nationhood. 
Meanwhile, Ireland's sons at home and over-seas will not 
forget "the dead who died for Ireland." In the words 
of John Boyle O'Reilly, a patriot and a poet, as were the 
leaders of the latest revolt, — 

"Be proud, ye men of Ireland. Be proud of 

those who died. 
Never men o'er all the earth had greater, nobler 

cause for pride. 
Hope and strive and league for freedom, and 

again the souls will rise 
Of the dead who died for Ireland to cheer you 

to the prize." 



[41] 



WHO FEARS TO SPEAK OF EASTER WEEK! 



Who fears to speak of Easter week! 

Or of the men who fell, 
The men who dead, yet, living speak, 

Who open mute lips to tell 
The coming years of hopes and fears, 

That week of joy and woe. 
O true men, like you, men, 

Right well that story know. 

They rose, as rose their sainted sires 

In olden days gone by. 
They rose to fan aflame the fires 

They swore should never die. 
The Nation's fires were burning low. 

The Nation's leaders' knaves, 
So brave they rose, 'gainst Erin's foes. 

They now fill patriots' graves. 

They rose in wrath, in deadly scorn 

Of slavish art and wile. 
They rose, they died. God bless the morn 

They died for Erin's isle. 
For never yet will men forget 

In all the morns to be. 
How fought Sinn Fein, no, not in vain, 

The dear old land to free. 



Who fears to speak of Easter week! 

The world shall speak for aye, 
Mankind shall speak of Easter week 

Till Time's last, latest day. 
In every clime, till latest time 

True men will joy to tell 
Of patriots brave, who gladly gave 
Their lives, their all, to save from thrall 

The land they loved so well. 
Who gladly, joyously did give 
Their lives, that Nationhood might live. 

Who died, and conquered as they fell. 

[42] 



THE MOST DISTRESSFUL COUNTRY 

"She's the most distressful country." Ah, sure, 'twas 
ever so, 

Her historj^'s writ in blood and tears, a chronicle of woe ; 

A record sad of sorrow deep, of suffering and of pain, 

Of hopes deferred, of dreams dispelled ; they're now dis- 
pelled again. 

God's ways are wonderful in sooth ; God's waj's are good 

and true ; 
We cannot fathom mysteries, nor know why, Erin, you, 
The land that loves the Lord your God, that loves God's 

Mother so, 
Should always be distressed and poor, oppressed, weighed 

down with woe. 

And why the land that serves God not, that scorns the 

Lord of all 
Should bask in Freedom's sun, why there ten thousand 

blessings fall; 
Why wealth, vast wealth, of yellow gold, or harvests 

corn and wine 
Should overflow ; and you in rags, dear native land of 

mine. 

Why? Why? Ah, God knows why, not we. Why Beth- 
lehem's bleak cave? 

Why daily toil for pittance poor, what time He came to 
save 

The world from sin? Why did One walk poor, outcast 
from His birth. 

And this did Christ, the King of kings, the Lord of 
Heaven and earth. 

O mystery of the ways of God ! In darkness here below 
We cannot fathom Heaven's design, we cannot clearly 

know 
Why Ireland, Isle of Saints, is poor, while weighted down 

with gold 
Is England, that has sold the truth, as Judas, Christ of 

old. 



[43] 



God's will be done, blest be God's will, but oh, we hope 
to see 

Our dear old land a nation yet, a nation fair and free. 

And hope we too, with fierce, wild hope, to deal a telling 
blow. 

To bear a hand to bring to pass curst England's over- 
throw. 



NOT CONQUERED YET 

Nay, nay, not yet bows Erin down, 
Or lowly bends our land the knee; 
Not yet, thank Heaven, the despot's frown 
Dark terror bears, dear land, for thee. 
For oh, you've borne long centuries thrall, 
Long ages mocked, despised and banned ; 
But still you stand erect and tall. 
You are not conquered yet, dear land ! 



You are not conquered yet. Ah, no. 
Nor will you ever conquered be ; 
You stand erect 'gainst English foe, 
'Gainst Saxon wile, fair, proud and free. 
'Gainst traitrous sons, 'gainst all the world 
You stand erect, free, fair and grand. 
You hold the old flag still unfurled. 
You are not conquered yet, dear land. 

Not yet, no, no, bows Ireland low. 

Nor cringes Ireland yet in fear. 

She has withstood the treacherous foe. 

For many a long and weary year 

She's bravely held her place ; not yet 

Has victory crowned base projects planned 

By English fraud. Lest men forget. 

You are not conquered yet, dear land. 



[44] 



You are not conquered yet, and more, 
The day when you will conquered lie 
Shall never dawn. From shore to shore 
The oath is sworn. Your sons will die, 
Your sons will rot in prison pen 
Will bear the torture of the damned — 
They've borne that oft, and will again ; 
You are not conquered yet, dear land. 

You are not conquered yet, dear land, 
Dear land, you will not conquered be. 
You'll still resist each base demand 
The foeman makes. His fraud you see, 
His force you weigh. You'll overthrow 
His every wile, and you'll withstand 
As you've withstood, the pain, the woe 
Heaped on you by the treacherous foe. 
You are not conquered yet, I trow. 
You're still erect and fair and grand ; 
You are not conquered yet, no, no, 
You will not conquered be, dear land. 



ST. PATRICK'S DAY AND "THE DAY" 

The following lines were written on St. Patrick's Day, 
1916, before the coming of "The Day," that is, Easter 
Week of that year. A week full of glorious deeds and 
glorious memories. "The Day" has passed, and the re- 
sult hoped for has not been realized, but the unconquered 
and rebel Irish race await the coming of "Another Day." 
Byron, a true lover of freedom, says: 

"Freedom's battle, once begun, 
Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son 
Though baffled oft is ever won." 



[45] 



Today, today, St. Patrick's Day, 
Our thoughts are speeding far away, 
Far from this dusty smoky air 
To beetling cliffs of western Clare, 
To peaceful Limerick's golden vale, 
To Wicklow's pride, fair Avondale, 
To gorse-crowned hills of Donegal. 
Oh, back our thoughts are turning, all 
Our thoughts are rushing fast today 
To Erin's isle, far, far away. 

Oh, if we close our eyes, we stand 
On some loved spot of Irish land. 
Perchance by that famed Treaty stone. 
Or broken bridge of stout Athlone, 
Perchance on Wexford's hill, where fell 
True men that loved the old land well. 
Glasnevin, where the martyrs lie 
Who on the scaffold doomed to die. 
Cried, "God Save Ireland," clear and brave, 
And gladly then, their young lives gave. 

All o'er the earth the scattered Gael 
Today re-tell the old, old tale. 
Old Erin's hope, old Erin's wrong. 
Today is told in speech and song. 
Oh, on this day, year following year, 
The scattered Gael send loud and clear 
This hopeful message o'er the foam, 
To friends and brothers far at home, 
"Your friends and brothers far away 
Are working for 'The Coming Day'." 

And so tonight we meet again 

To speed a message o'er the main ; 

A message to the Irish hills, 

Cloud capped and grey, to dancing rills 

That race through Connemara's dells. 

To fair Killarney's lakes and fells. 

To Meath's broad plains, to Antrim's caves, 

To Mayo, lashed by western waves. 

To all the land, we speed away 

The message of "The Coming Day." 

[46] 



"The Coming Day" full soon shall smile. 
The sunburst, brighten all our Isle, 
And slavery's clouds shall fade away, 
Dissolved before fair Freedom's ray. 
God speed that day I Then o'er the foam 
The exiled Gael shall haste them home. 
To help with gold and brawn and brain 
To make the land yet once again 
(Please God that day we soon may see) 
A Nation grand, and great, and free. 



THE DAY WE CELEBRATE 

Year after year, o'er all God's earth, where our scattered 

seed is cast. 
The sons of the Gael assemble, and they look to the 

storied past. 
And they look to the years that are coming, and so, tonight 

meet we 
To greetings send to the scattered Gaels, and the old land 

over the sea. 

First, thank we God for the year that is flown, for the 
year has proved anew 

That our grand old race is unconquered yet, that Ire- 
land's pulse beats true. 

That the faith of a glorious day to be, still lives, it is not 
dead. 

It lives, thank God. and 'twas kept in life when Dublin's 
streets ran red. 

For centuries seven our Saxon foe used every art. used 
even,- wile 

To break the Nation's spirit, to Anglicise the Isle. 

The Gaelic tongue was penalized, our faith proscribed 
and banned. 

But Ireland still stands forth, thank God. a vet UN- 
CONQUERED land. 



[47] 



So look we back with pride tonight, on that week of 

weeks that's flown, 
The "Sacramental seven days" when Ireland grasped her 

own, 
When floated high in Irish sky, the orange, white, and 

green. 
Oh, never yet, since Strongbow's day, was such a glorious 

scene ! 



Ah, vain, outnumbered ten to one, they failed, but yet 

with pride 
We boast tonight, and toast tonight, the men who fought 

and died. 
Who died to give the Nation life, and keep bright flaming 

still 
The grand old fire of Nationhood, on every Irish hill. 

Pearse, Plunket, Casement gladly died, and bright the 

flame today 
Is flashing far from Antrim's caves to distant Bantry Bay, 
From Connemara's lofty hills, where Patrick prayed of 

yore. 
Through Meath's broad plains, and stout Athlone, and 

Donegal's wild shore. 

And the flame has flashed from the old land far, and 

tonight it brightly glows 
Over all God's earth, from the tropic seas to the bleak 

Antarctic snows. 
Wherever the Irish race is found, the flame is fiercely 

fanned, 
It glows o'er the earth from pole to pole, and from land 

to furthermost land. 

So tonight again, over all the world, where our scattered 

seed is sown 
Do we meet to pledge the centuries' pledge, "Sinn Fein," 

"Ourselves Alone." 
God and the Cause and our strong right hand, and these 

combined shall see 
The dream of the race soon realized, and our land, OLD 

IRELAND, free! 

[48] 



ROMANTIC IRELAND 

'Roinantic Ireland's dead and gone. 
It's ivith O'Leary in his grave." 

— William Butler Yeats. 



"Romantic Ireland's dead and gone." 

Romantic Ireland cannot die. 
Was Ireland dead that Easter week 

When floated in the Dublin sky, 
Raised proud aloft by poets brave, 

(Romantic they, I ween,) 
The young Republic's tricolor. 

The orange, white and green. 

"Romantic Ireland's dead and gone.'' 

Romantic Ireland lives for aye. 
O'Leary 's gone, and Pearse is gone, 

But other men as brave as they 
Still live, to raise in years to be. 

Again in Dublin sky, 
The tricolor of Ireland's hopes; 

Romantic Ireland cannot die. 

Romantic Ireland lives, shall live 

Till realized her hopes shall be ; 
Till floats the orange, white and green 

O'er Ireland, from her thralldom free; 
Free, free at length, a sovereign state. 

Her night of serfdom o'er, 
Hopes long deferred, realities. 

Free, free from shore to shore. 

Romantic Ireland then, e'en then. 

Great, independent, free, 
Her centuried shackles riven, rent, 

Cannot, shall not forgetful be 
Of Pearse, O'Leary, and the men 

Who fought in days gone by. 
Romantic Ireland dead! Ah, no! 

Romantic Ireland cannot die. 

[49] 



PATRICK'S DAY DREAMING 

Back to the dear old land today 

My thoughts with longing flee ; 

Back 'mong the hills I roamed in play, 
Light-hearted, happy, free. 

God bless that dear old land, I pray. 
The land I ne'er may see. 

God, be with the dancing streams, 

That flash 'neath Irish sky! 
And with the woods where sunlight gleams, 

And shadows darkling lie ; 
And with my hopeful boyhood dreams 

Of days long since gone by. 

How oft when wandering by the sea. 
Or through w^ild woodland ways, 

1 dreamed the dear old land was free. 

Oft rang the old land's lays 
Of war, of love. Ah ! dear to me 
These dreams of bygone days I 

Today a glance I backward cast 
And dream old dreams anew. 

Today is present all my past. 

My boyhood past. Not few 

The years since then. O may at last 
One olden dream come true! 

O may one dream, I suppliant pray, 

I cry, dear Lord, to Thee, 
Full soon come true. May freedom's ray 

Flash bright from sea to sea, 
O hasten Lord, the coming day 

When Ireland shall be free. 



[50] 



THE RISING TIDE 



The tide is rising fast and strong. 
Thank God, thank God, I've lived so long, 
Thank God, I've lived to see once more 
The spirit sweep from shore to shore. 
The spirit of the days of yore. 
The spirit that will sw^eep the land 

Till from the centre to the sea, 
My loved, my martyred Motherland, 

Shall stand erect, a Nation free. 



In vain, in vain, the Saxon wile 

Had cast its nets around the isle. 

In vain, thank God, for staunch and true 

Were men who English faith well knew ; 

And they, dear land, dared all for you. 

They rose in glorious, futile fight. 

Just as their fathers rose of old, 
And for a week dared England's might, 

Beneath their flag, green, white and gold. 

They failed, they fell, but not in vain, 

For they awoke to life again 

The spirit that was slumbering then, 

Oh, never yet were truer men. 

Nor truer men shall be again 

Than Pearse, McDonough, and the few 

That rose that Easter week gone by 
And gave their lives, dear land, for you, 

That Nationhood might never die. 

The Nation's spirit staunch and strong, 
A rising tide, now sweeps along. 
In vain, with bribe and ruse and guile. 
With every artful craft and wile 
The foe is skulking through the isle. 
The land's awake, and spurns the gold. 

And spurns the bribe that's offered free. 
The land's awake, and patriots bold 

Proclaim the land shall, must be free. 

[51] 



Oh, yes, the tide is rising fast, 
Is rising fast, at last, at last! 
The Nation's spirit sweeps amain. 
That Pearse awaked to life again. 
It sweeps resistless as the main ; 
It rushes onward, fierce and strong, 

Thank God, I've lived the day to see. 
The day that patriots sighed for long, 
The day that ends seven centuries' wrong, 

And makes the land a Nation free. 



"SINN FEIN! SINN FEIN!" 

"Sinn Fein!" "Sinn Fein!" "Ourselves! Ourselves!' 

Hark to the cry that rings today 
From Antrim's Caves to Cork's sweet Cove, 

From Dublin Town to Galway Bay. 
"Ourselves Alone!" "Ourselves Alone!" 

Rings out the cry ; shout it again — 
"Ourselves!" "Ourselves!" "Ourselves Alone!" 

"Ourselves!" "Sinn Fein!" "Sinn Fein!" 



Long, long we've begged for paltry crumbs. 

Long, long we've bent the cringing knee. 
Too long we've crouched. Ah, not again 

Will England Ireland suppliant see. 
We stand erect and free and clear, 

The cry rings out in thunder tone — 
"Sinn Fein!" "Ourselves!" "Ourselves!" "Sinn Fein!' 

"Sinn Fein!" "Ourselves Alone!" 

The tyrant power in days gone by 

Crushed Erin's bravest to the dust, 
And pity, mercy, had she none. 

She listens now, for now she must; 
Her might is shattered, and her sun 

That shone too long, full soon shall wane. 
Thank God, and rings as sound of knell 

The Irish cry, "Sinn Fein!" "Sinn Fein!" 

[52] 



Shout out the cry! Oh, never yet, 

In all the years that's passed away, 
Was such a glorious cry as this 

That rings o'er Ireland's length today. 
"Sinn Fein!" for if we help ourselves, 

Our God will help us to attain 
The freedom of the land we love, 

''Ourselves!" "Sinn Fein!" "Ourselves!" 
"Sinn Fein!" 



Oh! lo! a vision fair behold. 

Our Nation, Ireland, great and free, 
Her tricolor, green, white and gold. 

O'er all the land, o'er every sea. 
Her stalwart sons, her daughters fair, 

To God, to country true remain. 
Their motto still, "Sinn Fein!" "Ourselves!" 

"Ourselves!" "Sinn Fein!" "Sinn Fein!" 



ERIN RESURGENT 

(Written for The Irish World) 

Behold, she stands, nor suppliant now, 

With hands stretched out for dole, 
She stands erect, with prideful brow, 

With firm and dauntless soul. 
The spirit of the days of yore 

Through all her veins runs free, 
She's knocking at the Nations' door, 

A sister Nation she. 

The day of prayerful pleading's past, 

No longer abject, bowed, 
Her fetters from her limbs are cast. 

She stands erect and proud ; 
Erect and free, proud, stern, elate, 

A matchless, regal queen. 
Clad in her royal robes of state, 

Of orange, white and green. 

[53] 



Majestic, fair ; beyond compare, 

The risen nation now; 
In Freedom's vesture, rich and rare. 

With circlet clasped brow: 
What pride of place, what queenly grace, 

What majesty of mien! 
Queen of the earth ! queen of our race ! 

Loved land ! Dark Rosaleen ! 

No longer dimmed your beautous eyes, 

No longer slow tears fall. 
You heard the voice, "Arise! Arise!" 

Fair Freedom's clarion call. 
You sprang erect in pride and power, 

No longer bowed in pain, 
You sprang erect ; in one great hour 

You snapped the Saxon chain. 

You flung his shackles on the sod 

You stood erect and free. 
Fair, free, erect, in face of God 

For Heaven and Earth to see. 
Though deadly wrongs for centuries seven 

Your lot, and pain and dole. 
Yet lost you never hope in Heaven, 

You never lost your soul. 

Your soul undaunted never failed 

In all the years of woe ; 
Your soul unfettered never quailed 

Before the ruthless foe. 
And now your night of thralldom's done, 

With free, unfettered hands. 
Dear Erin, free, the victory won. 

Before the whole world stands. 

Stands, yes, she stands, nor suppliant now 

With hands stretched out for dole, 
She stands erect, with prideful brow. 

With firm and dauntless soul ; 
The spirit of the days of yore 

Through all her veins runs free. 
She's knocking at the Nations' door, 

A sister Nation she. 

[54] 



REQUIESCAT IN PACE 

1. 

God rest your soul, MacSwiney, your bed be Heaven 

tonight, 
You've passed from earth, your soul is free, you've won 

the noblest fight 
That ever yet was won on earth ; grim death has claimed 

his toll, 
And tens of thousands fervent pray, "MacSwiney, rest 

vour soul." 



2. 



God rest your soul, your firm, staunch soul that ne'er 

was tempest-tossed, 
But placid, calm. 'Tis easy, sure, to never count the cost 
When trumpets blare and comrades cheer and yonder lies 

the foe ; 
But you, Ah, not for you that fight, but torture grim 

and slow! 



3. 



No, not for you the battle line, the Tricolor above. 
And Ireland's soldiers following, aflame with patriot love. 
No, not for you a wild fierce charge, 'gainst England's 

ring of steel. 
But hunger pangs and torturing pain, for weary weeks 

to feel. 



4. 



God rest your soul, MacSwiney, you knew the horror dire 
That lay before you ere in pain and anguish you'd expire ; 
You knew the gnawing aching pains that would your 

vitals tear; 
And yet, for love of Motherland, all that you willed to 

bear. 



[55] 



5. 

You calmly counted all the cost, you knew the hellish hate 
Of England's minions, yet you smiled, serene, unmoved 

by fate; 
You knew that weeks of fierce wild pain were yours 

before would toll 
Your passing bell, and yet you smiled ; MacSwiney, rest 

your soul. 

6. 

God rest your soul, MacSwiney. True Irish hearts today 
From all God's earth send up that prayer. Ah, fervently 

they pray. 
The scattered children of the Gael who watched your 

glorious fight. 
Deep fervent prayers, MacSwiney, ascend to Heaven 

tonight. 



And w^ith the fervent prayers that rise beyond the azure 

sky 
For mercy on your soul tonight, another prayer will fly, 
A prayer that soon may dawn the day, soon come the 

longed-for time 
When England reaps the vengeance due for such a hellish 

crime. 



8. 

God rest your soul, MacSwiney ; no nobler man than you 
Has breathed God's air for centuries long, no soul so 

tried and true. 
With joy tonight your angel guide a name will bright 

enroll 
In Heaven's Eternal Book of Life. MacSwiney, rest 

your soul. 

(October 25th, 1920) 



[56] 



ERIN TRIUMPHANT 

'The soul of Ireland throbs (Uid glows 

With life that knows the hour is near 
To strike again like Irishmen 

For that which Irishmen hold dear." 

— Joyce Kilmer. 

Thank God, thank God, I've lived to see 

In Erin's Isle from shore to shore, 
A spirit sweeping fierce and free, 

The spirit of the days oi yore. 
The spirit of the da^^s gone by 

Burns brightly once again ; 
The spirit blazing fierce and high, 
The spirit that shall never die, 

The spirit of Sinn Fein. 

Oh ! Ireland is aflame today ! 

Aflame with patriotic blaze, 
Her leaders tried and true as they 

Who fanned the flame in bygone days. 
Staunch, stern and brave, true patriot men 

In serried ranks from sea to sea. 
From hill and dale and vale and glen. 
Have vowed the old, old oath again, 

"The Nation is, and shall be free." 

Full fiercely burns the patriot flame ; 

The young men of the land today 
Are not bowed down or cowed or tame, 

Erect and firm and brave are they; 
They strive as their brave sires have striven, 

They've pledged their all, their lives. 
This thought does all their actions leaven, 
"By God, and all our hopes of Heaven, 

We'll rend the Nation's gyves!" 



[57] 



And Erin's daughters fair and pure, 

With swelling breasts and eyes aglow, 
They too have sworn to all endure, 

As did their mothers long ago. 
The matron young has taught the child 

The Nation's war-cry, this refrain 
From infant lips, sin-undefiled. 
In every home rings clear and wild, 

"Up! Up the Rebels! Up Sinn Fein!" 

Oh! no, a Nation's soul can't die, 

Brute force can never win the day, 
In every age did England try 

To kill the soul; but tell me, pray. 
When did the Irish Nation e'er 

Bow down to England's throne. 
Accept defeat, when, in despair, 
Give up the fight! Ah, no, no, ne'er, 

In all the centuries flown! 

And so today the land's ablaze, 

The fire flames to the sky ; 
The land's ablaze, and ancient days 

Return with olden chivalry. 
Thank God! I've lived to see on high 

What long I've yearned to see, 
The Tricolor triumphant fly 
In God's fair breeze in Ireland's sky. 

And loved old Ireland Free! 
(On board ''The Olympic" October 12, 1920.) 



[58] 



KEVIN BARRY, HANGED 



" . . . thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's — 
One of the feiu, the immortal names. 
That were not born to die." 

— Fitz-Greene Halleck. 

a sinn fein volunteer addresses his comrades 

"In Dublin town, where Emmet died. 

They hanged a beardless boy; 
Young Kevin Barry, true and tried. 

They hanged in grim Mountjoy. 
The fools ! And do they think that we 

Will cringe in dire dismay, 
Will dread the Saxon gallows tree 

Young Barry climbed today? 

"Oh, no, with joy, our eyes aglow, 

We breathe young Barry's name; 
He died in combat with the foe. 

He's won eternal fame. 
Oh, would to God there might befall. 

The chance to us as well. 
For Ireland dear to risk our all 

And fall as Barry fell. 

"We've sworn to serve dark Rosaleen, 

For aye, come weal, come woe, 
Beneath the Orange, White and Green 

To smite the Saxon foe: 
And sworn to Ireland's noble cause. 

We're ready, night and day. 
For the Repuublic and its laws, 

Our lives to cast awav. 



[59] 



"Full many another beardless boy 

Will fall as Barry fell, 
And oh! 'twill be with deepest joy; 

For future times will tell 
Of those who in the cause of right, 

The dear old land to free, 
Fell in the thick of battle fight. 

Or on the gallows tree. 

"What matter where, or how, or when, 

We lay our poor lives down. 
If, when we die w^e die as men? 

Then ours for aye renown. 
For men will breathe our names for aye. 

And to their children tell. 
Our deeds, our deaths, and all will pray 

To fall as once we fell. 

"To fall in Ireland's holy Cause, 

For Ireland dear to die, 
This, this, in Ireland wins applause. 

Gains immortality. 
We envy him, that gallant boy. 

Whose name we breathe with pride, 
We'd each one die in grim Mountjoy, 

As Kevin Barry died." 

(All Saint's Day, 1920) 



[60] 



THE HIGHER LOVE 

"... this inconstancy is such 
As yoUj too, shall adore, 
I could not love thee, dear, so inuch. 
Loved I not honour more." 

— Richard Lovelace. 

The twain stood by the old stone stile 
One moonlight night in June, 

And Dairmuid with a merry smile, 
While shone the radiant moon, 

The moon beloved of lovers, said : 

**Soon, dear, ah! soon, we two will wed. 
Nor happier pair in Ireland be. 
Than we together, you and me. 

No happier may be seen." 

But Nora gently shook her head, 
''Ah! Dairmuid, dear," she softly said, 

"First comes Dark Rosaleen." 

And Dairmuid flushed, his face grew bright 
And flashed his eyes of blue, 

"Ah! Nora, dearest, yes, you're right. 
First, first comes Roisin Dhu ; 

The dear old land that we both love. 

Has claims our own sweet claims above. 

And soon, please God, ah ! soon we'll see 
Come forth to make the old land free 

The dauntless hosts in gteen: 

Then you and I our parts will do 
For our own lovely Roisin Dhu, 

Our own Dark Rosaleen. 

"And if while flames in Heaven above, 
In Heaven's bright azure sky. 

The Tricolor, my own sweet love. 
Your Dairmuid then should die. 

You must not grieve or weep or moan; 

What fate more glorious could be known? 
I'd gladly die for Ireland, dear. 
And you, nay, smile, shed not a tear, 

My dearest heart, my queen. 

Nay! nay! I'd have you thrill with pride 
That in the battle Dairmuid died. 

To save Dark Rosaleen." 

[61] 



"Oh! Dalrmufd, dear, I'm smiling, see, 

Dear heart, sweet love, you've aye been so, 

My own true love, but we, ah! we, 

A love more deep, more holy know. 

We love our land, we love it true. 

Our own fair land, our Roisin Dhu: 
And if in fight your lot to fall, 
Though losing you, I lose my all, 

Yet, dearest heart, I ween 

You know I'll happy be that you 
Love more than me, your Roisin Dhu 

Your own Dark Rosaleen." 

Thus spoke of late an Irish maid. 
With heart as steel as true. 

Thus spoke her sweetheart undismayed, 
Both loving Roisin Dhu. 

Ah ! praise to God, true lovers there 

Today all over Ireland fair 

The youth and maidens of the isle 
Face death and danger, and they smile, 

Calm, undismayed, serene, 

True lovers love, but first of all. 
They're sworn to heed the Nation's call 

And serve Dark Rosaleen. 



[62] 



THE PARTING 



'They love their land because it is their ozvn 
And scorn to give aught other reason why." 

— Fitz-Greene Halleck. 



1. 



The twain stood in a prison cell, 

Hands clasped and eyes aglow; 
The twain who loved each other well, 

And who some weeks ago 
Stood by the trysting stile and told 
The old, old tale that ne'er is old, 

The tale that maidens love to hear 
Low whispered by true lovers dear, 
The tale of love. The scene 
How different now, since vowed the two 
To faithful be to each, and true 
To loved Dark Rosaleen. 



2. 



*'Ah, Nora, dear. Light of my life," 

And Dairmuid kissed her brow, 
"You whom one day I'll call 'Sweet wife,' 

Shed not one sad tear now ; 
Though for a time we two must part 
You must not weep or grieve, dear heart. 

You must not mourn, my sweetheart true, 
Remember dear. Sweet Roisin Dhu. 
No sorrow must be seen 
On your dear face. One other love 
We place our own sweet love above 
Love of Dark Rosaleen." 



[63] 



3. 



"Dear Dairmuid love, I will not weep 

One single tear, but, oh ! 
I'll watch and pray and vigil keep; 

The world will never know 
What pain is deep within my breast, 
But God who gives the pain, knows best ; 

And so for Roisin Dhu I'll bear 

The cross, dear love, nor seem to care 
That seas will roll between 
Us two. I'll smile and fervent say 
Each day the prayer you taught me pray, 

God save Dark Rosaleen." 



4. 



One kiss, one lingering kiss, and then 

A smile, and of^ she went 
To nurse her wound, to hide from men 

The smart. Oh, well content 
She seemed, and well resigned indeed. 
Was she, and willing, were there need 
To bid him die for Roisin Dhu, 
Her own Dairmuid, leal and true. 
To bid him die. I ween 
Such love and sacrifice and pain 
Will rend our country's centuried chain 
And free Dark Rosaleen. 



[64] 



RESIGNATION 



"That's best 
Which God sefids. 'Twas His will: it is mine/' 

— Owen Meredith. 



1. 



And one kneels at the altar rail 

Before our Lady's shrine; 
Kneels not in grief, not to bewail, 

Not to repent, repine ; 
Repine that late her love she gave 
To Roisin Dhu. A felon's grave 

Young Dairmuid fills in grim Mountjoy 

And Nora kneels, and tears of joy 
By wondering angels seen 
Flow down her cheeks ; she prays for him 
Who fearless died in combat grim 

For love of Rosaleen. 



2. 



*0 Mary Mother, you who knew 

Deep grief so long ago, 
You whose sad soul a sword pierced through, 

A sword of sharpest woe. 
Oh ! give me strength the cross to take 
With joy for Roisin Dhu's dear sake; 

Grant that for sake of Christ, the Lord, 

I'll swerve not from the piercing sword 
However sharp and keen; 
I offer. Mother, pain of mine 
Joined to that greater pain of thine 

For loved Dark Rosaleen. 



[65] 



3. 



"I weep, but oh! I'd not undo 

One single deed e'er done 
For love of lovely Roisin Dhu. 

You, who gave up your Son 
To pain and death on Calvary, 
Give strength and courage now to me 

Who urged to death my Dairmuid dear, 

Who bade goodbye without one tear ; 
Grant that my soul serene 
And calm may no iota take 
Of sacrifice I fain would make 

For love of Rosaleen. 



''Dear Mother Mary, Mother Sweet, 

I know one day I'll see 
My love in Heaven, one day I'll greet 

My Dairmuid Oge Machree; 
He who for love of Roisin Dhu 
Gave up his young life, leal and true, 

Gave up with joy his gay young life. 

Gave up the maid betrothed for wife. 
And yet with joy serene, 
With dauntless mien, with flashing eye, 
Went forth at dawn of day to die 

For love of Rosaleen. 



5. 



"Mother of pity, gentle and fair. 

Mother of mine, oh, see, 
I kiss the cross! I gladly bear 

The pain afflicting me. 
I think of your pain and grief and loss. 
Your sword-pierced heart beneath the Cross, 

And all the grief your soul felt then 

When died your Son for sinful men ; 
You who felt pangs so keen, 
Will help me bear my grief, who gave 
My love to fill a quicklime grave 

For love of Rosaleen." 

[66] 



DAY OF DAYS, YEAR OF YEARS 

1. 

Once more St. Patrick's Day is here ; once more o'er all 
the world 
The exiled Gael sends home his thoughts o'er 
boundless leagues of sea. 
Once more in every land today the Irish flag unfurled 

Floats o'er the scattered Celtic race that pledges 
"Ireland free." 

2. 

Oh ! never a land o'er all God's earth, from frozen realms 
of snow, 
To torrid climes where zenith suns the scorched 
equator blaze. 
Oh! never a land and never a sea, of the seven seas but 
know, 
That Patrick's Day is for scattered Celts, the day 
of all God's days. 

3. 

And this year, thank God, is a year of years. The hated 
Saxon foes 
Are now on the defensive all. No greater year 
has been 
In all the years since Easter year, when Padraic Pearse 
arose. 
And raised o'er Dublin's ramparts high, the 
Orange, White and Green. 

4. 

So this message home o'er every sea is borne in thunder 
tone : — 
"Hold on, brave brothers, gallantly, the longed- 
for dawn is nigh. 
Your centuried battle's all but won : God, only God alone. 
Can stay the sun from rising now, to flush the 
eastern sky." 

[67] 



And tonight we hail with glad delight the long-deferred 
dire doom 
Of tyrant England and we hail, Ireland a Nation 
free. 
We here tonight in the Southland met, where sweet 
magnolias bloom, 
And exiled far from the dear old land, that gems 
the Atlantic Sea. 

6. 

And with all our race all over the world, we greet the 
rising day, 
The day that ends the centuried strife of blood 
and wrongs and tears, 
The desperate fight 'gainst fearful odds, without or let or 
stay 
By Erin fought 'gainst Saxon might, for lo! seven 
hundred years. 

7. 

Glory to Patrick's God today, who deigns our land to 
save. 
Glory to all our martyred dead, who look from 
Heaven to see 
Those dreams and hopes realities, for which their lives 
they gave, 
In dungeon cell, or battle charge, or lofty scaffold 
tree. 



Oh! yes, tonight of all the years since Patrick preached 
the creed 
On Tara's hill, and lit the fire that never shall 
decay. 
We exiled Gaels in gladness meet. The dawn is bright 
indeed. 
And Erin once a Nation free, forever free shall 
stav. 

(March, 1919) 



[68] 



TO ERIN FAR AWAY 

O, dear old land, my thoughts fly back, 

Back over land and sea, 
To thy hills and vales and woods and dells, 
To thy beauteous lakes and fairy fells ; 
Old land of mine, what rapture swells 

My heart, at dreams of thee ! 

Old land of mine, dear native land, 
I'm back in thought once more; 
I'm back again amid thy hills. 
Among thy glancing, sparkling rills. 
Old land of mine, what rapture fills 
My heart 'erst sad and sore! 

dear old land, I've rambled far, 

In many devious ways ; 
I've seen Italia's golden shore. 
And sunny France I've wandered o'er, 
And Scotland's hills, but, ah, asthore. 

Thee, only thee, I praise! 

In later days on this free soil, 

God willed my lot to cast, 
But though a thousand leagues of sea, 
A thousand leagues of land there be 
Between us twain, thee, only thee, 

I dream of, and thy past! 

1 dream of all the glorious deeds 

Thy brave sons wrought for thee ; 
I dream of every gallant band 
That fought and bled for thee, dear land, 
In days so dark and freedom banned. 

When they would make thee free. 

In vain, dear land, they nobly fought. 
They bravely fought in vain; 

But, ah, dear land, we yet shall see. 

This is our certain hope of thee. 

Thee, native land, grand, great and free, 
A nation once again. 

[69] 



THE OLD REFRAIN 



Wide scattered over earth today, 

The sea-divided Gael, 
Send back across the ocean spray, 

Their love to Inisfail. 
From ice-clad north to isles of Ind 

By tropic breezes fanned, 
This cry is borne on every wind, 

''God bless the dear old land." 

Round many a festive board tonight 

Shall gather exiled men, 
And O, what dreams, what visions bright 

Of Ireland free again! 
Dreams, aye, and purpose stern and high 

And grim resolve there be 
To fight, if need be, e'en to die 

To set the old land free. 



Full many a memory of the past 

Of other days long gone, 
Athlone, Kinsale and Mullaghmast, 

Tonight shall ring in song. 
In song and speech tonight o'er earth. 

All Irish hearts shall thrill. 
Though exiled, to the place of birth 

We Gaels are loyal still. 

Yes, still we love the dear old land 

And still we hate her foes. 
And still we strive with heart and hand 

To heal her countless woes. 
So swear tonight the oath, the same 

They swear on Erin's sod. 
To ne'er forget her wrong and shame, 

No ! never ! help us God ! 



[70] 



O praise the Lord, adoring praise, 

Love, homage, thanks we pay, 
For that fierce oath that millions raise 

O'er all God's earth today. 
Then send me back the old refrain, 

This shout across the sea, 
Our land ! A nation once again ! 

Our land! Old Ireland free! 



FAR AWAY 

I 

I am far from the land, the dear old land. 

The land of all lands to me. 

My own lovely Erin sweet Emerald Island, 

Sweet Ireland acushla ma chree; 

And far in the land of the stranger I'm roaming 

And the billows of ocean between 

This land and my native land, Erin my darling. 

My loved land, my beautiful green. 

II 

Oh, Ireland, dear Ireland, the land of my fathers, 

The land that I love most of all, 

Dear Ireland my native land, land of my sireland. 

Land covered by sorrow's black pall ; 

Land oppressed and downtrodden by hated invaders. 

Dear Ireland oh, would you were free. 

Could my life, my dear Ireland, win freedom resplendent, 

'Twere sacrificed gladly to thee. 

Ill 

But dear land I am far in the land of the stranger, 

An exile from Erin and home. 

But native land Ireland, I'll never forget thee, 

Though the world wide over I roam. 

I love thee dear native land, land far removed from me, 

Land oppressed and downtrodden and poor. 

And because you're a land of oppression and sorrow, 

I love you ten thousand times more. 

[71] 



ST. PATRICK'S DAY 



St. Patrick, St. Patrick, dear Saint of our island, 

Our glorious St. Patrick, from Erin's green hills. 
We wear your sweet shamrock, that came from old 
Ireland, 
That dear little shamrock, O how our heart thrills 
with gladness and joy. 
And sweet sorrow's alloy, 
So far from the dear little island today, 
Our own little island. 
Dear beauteous old Ireland. 
O, may God bless the dear little island, and guard 

Its fair sons and daughters from erring we pray ; 
May their faith and their love meet a fitting reward, 

And may happiness crown them, on this Patrick's day. 

St. Patrick, St. Patrick, look down from your glory. 

Look down on your sons o'er the earth scattered 
wide — 
Exiles far from the bright land of strange, stirring story — 
The fair land of Erin in which they take pride ; 
The land of their love, 
After Heaven above. 
The fair land they're dreaming of, day after day — 
Land richest and rarest, 
And brightest and fairest. 
O, may God bless the dear land, and never, O never! 
May the true faith you've planted, for aye fade 
away; 
May it flourish and live bright and blooming as ever, 
And this is our prayer, on this blest Patrick's day. 



[72] 



Then St. Patrick, St. Patrick, a blessing for Ireland, 

That dear little island that's over the sea ; 
A blessing for Ireland, of island the island ; 

And glorious St. Patrick, we pray to thee, we 
That ever being true 
To the faith taught by you. 
We may never abandon that true faith, and stray 
To the faith of those 
Our Church's foes. 
Who traduce and revile thee, great Saint, may your 
blessing 
Still guard and defend us in truth's gladsome way, 
That ever 'gainst false faiths, the true faith professing. 
We may worthily, holily keep Patrick's Day. 



THE ROYAL POPE AND SPANISH ALE 

"There's wine — frojn the Royal Pope, 
Upon the oceafi green; 
And Spanish ale shall give you hope 
My Dark Rosaleen." 

— Mangan. 

"Dark Rosaleen, dark Rosaleen, 
Full sorrowful your years have been ; 
Black was the night and dark the day. 
Yet trod you ever God's straight way. 
Dark Rosaleen, you did not sell 
Your soul to England or to Hell: 
Your soul you kept white, pure, serene. 
Dark Rosaleen, dark Rosaleen. 



[73] 



**The Saxon strove with hellish wile, 
T' enslave, debauch your soul, dear Isle ; 
The Saxon strove seven centuries long 
To break your spirit free and strong. 
To bend you to his will at length, 
But vain his force and vain his strength. 
Dear land of mine, loved Erin green. 
Dark Rosaleen, dark Rosaleen. 

"You flung the Saxon gifts away, 

You would not from the straight path stray. 

You spurned the gold the Saxon gave; 

You'd never, never be his slave. 

You claimed, nor cringed in servile fear, 

Your rights through every weary year. 

You never England's slave have been, 

Dark Rosaleen, dark Rosaleen. 

"And now, thank God, I've lived to see 

My native land a Nation free. 

To see, thank God, the overthrow 

In Erin of the Saxon foe. 

Oh, now I've lived in holy hope 

To see this day. Wine from the Pope 

And Spanish ale had strength, I ween. 

Dark Rosaleen, dark Rosaleen. 

"Saint Patrick's faith, wine from the Pope, 
In all the years has given 3^ou hope, 
And now at length does right prevail ; 
'Twas so foretold. The Spanish Ale 
Is De Valera, tried and true. 
Who now Redemption brings to you. 
And Freedom's dawn at last is seen. 
Dark Rosaleen, dark Rosaleen." 



[74] 



UNCONQUERED AND UNCONQUERABLE 

Yes, let them try as they tried before, to kill the soul of 
the Gael, 

Let them send their tanks and their soldiers o'er, as be- 
fore they failed, they'll fail. 

A spirit the soul of the Celt doth leaven and Ireland 
stands dauntless today, 

The spirit of martyrs of centuries seven is nerving the 
Celt for the fray. 

We have never surrendered or yielded the flight in seven 

long centuries time, 
We have always prayed to the God of Might to punish 

the Saxon's crime. 
And to give us strength to persevere though the fight last 

centuries more, 
To fight, not cringe in servile fear, though our fields drip 

red with gore. 

And our prayer has been heard in Heaven above. What 

people have fought as we? 
We have fought till the fight for itself we love ; we will 

fight till the Isle we free. 
God ! how we've fought and struggled and bled ! but the 

cause has been handed down. 
And we filled our graves with our patriot dead, and their 

deeds in our songs we crown. 

What a glorious roll is the Irish roll of the men who 

nobly died! 
What a bitter toll is Britain's toll who slew them in her 

pride ; 
In her pride and hate and lust for blood she filled the 

Irish graves. 
But against her hate the whole race stood ; yes, stood, not 

cringed as slaves. 



[75] 



We have never cried "Halt," or thrown down arms. 

We've fought from age to age. 
The whole isle rung with war's alarms. We've met the 

brutish rage 
Of the Saxon hordes, but the nation's soul is unspotted, 

pure and clean. 
Oh ! often we all but reached the goal. Dear Lord, what 

a war it has been ! 

Oh! yes, let them try as they tried full oft, in all of the 

centuries flown. 
We trust to the Lord, we are looking aloft; Mary's 

mantle round Ireland is thrown. 
The Queen of high Heaven we served all the years, and 

the Son that we love above all. 
Will mindful now be of our blood and our tears. We 

call, ah ! not vainly we call ! 

Then let them try as they tried before to break the soul 

of the Gael, 
And their tanks and their armies bring once more. As 

of old they failed, they'll fail. 
And the old, old fight will still be fought in hamlet and 

mountain and lea, 
Their guns and their cannons avail them nought, Erin's 

soul is unfettered and free. 

And the fight will be waged till Judgment Day if so be 
God's dear will, 

But the word of defeat we never will say. We will 
struggle and strive until — 

Till the very last Celt in all the world unconquered, de- 
fiant will stand, 

But the firmament scroll will then be furled, and the 
Judgment Day at hand. 



[76] 



THE SPIRIT LIVES 

Has Erijis war-like spirit flown. 

Are Erins sons but slaves today f 

— ^James E. Coyle. 

No, no, her spirit has not flown, 

And Erin's sons stand free today. 
Nor bend they to King George's throne, 

To him, to his, no fealty pay. 

They hurl defiance, and they say : 
"We're free, no longer slaves we bow. 

Our land's a nation of the world. 
We're free, call off your minions now." 

Thank God for Easter week, when woke 
To might and manhood all the land, 

Thank God ; for then a nation spoke. 
Spoke, so that all might understand. 
And well was the Rebellion planned. 

It failed, you say: a glorious gain. 

It seemed to fail, but, God of Heaven! 

It victory w^on through blood and pain. 

Our martyrs died ; that Easter week 
Shall ever in remembrance dwell. 

And to each generation speak 

Their blood. The cause for which they fell 
They gained : they triumphed : who can tell 

What holy joy, what rapture fierce, 

Filled the proud souls of those who died 

For Ireland, under Patrick Pearse. 

Think you a land that breeds such men, 

Shall ever kiss a tyrant's rod : 
No, no, such men of late again 

Have vowed to the Almighty God 

That the same path the martyrs trod 
They'll tread to keep a Nation free: 

And England knows how true that threat, 
How brave can Irish patriots be. 



[77] 



So Ireland stands and claims her own 
And warns the Saxon hordes to go. 

Nor begs that favor from the throne 

Of England, whence came naught but woe, 
And pain and sorrow, since that foe 

First landed on the Irish shore 

When Dermot brought them o'er the sea 

In the fierce warrior days of yore. 

So Erin's sons stand proud and free. 

The cause for which for centuries fell 

The patriots of the land, they see 

Achieved at last, though powers of hell 
And England strove, and so they tell 

The glorious tale; they'll tell the tale 

While lives on earth one patriot true. 

The glorious record shall not fail. 

Slaves, no, not slaves, but freemen now 

Are Erin's sons; erect they stand. 
No brand of slave on any brow. 

Nor gyve or chain on any hand. 

And hark, oh hark, no longer banned, 
The Gaelic tongue rings loud and clear. 

A Nation, yes thank God, at last. 
At last, the longed-for day is here ! 



[78] 



PURGING FIRES 



" . . . . 'Where's your husband?' 'I give you three 
minutes to fetch him.' One searched the house. Two 
more raided the outhouses and took all the eggs they could 

find. When they came to where P was they took 

the pony by the head, turned him on the road and being 
fully armed, forced him and the neighbors to cart stones 
to repair the bridges blown up by the I. R. A. We don't 
know^ what's going to happen from one day to another or 
how long we'll be alive ; the shootings and ambushes are 
coming nearer to us. We have no heart to do anything 
except just our day's work." — {Extract from letter from 
home.) 

They die each day for Ireland, the young, the true, the 
brave, 
The flower of Ireland's manhood, and maidens pure 
and fair. 
They're filling, thanks to God for it, full many a quick- 
lime grave. 
Shot down like dogs or hunted deer, in Ireland, 
''over there." 



They shoot them down, but fierce and strong, the cry to 
Heaven goes. 
From every Irish mountainside, from every Irish 
vale. 
The cry to keep the struggle up, 'gainst Ireland's murder- 
ous foes, 
Till in the end the just cause wins, and righteousness 
prevail. 

And oh ! to see the flashing eyes of young men met at 
night 
Beneath the silvery moonbeams to drill in Ireland's 
cause ! 
They know full well the cause is just, that in the end the 
Right 
Will win o'er Wrong, though Wrong be backed by 
all an Empire's laws. 

[79] 



And oh! to see the maidens young who with a cheery 
smile 
Send forth their lovers to the ranks a brave man's 
part to do, 
While they at home with anxious hearts, will watch and 
wait the while, 
Ah! harder this, than dash to death, with loud "Sinn 
Fein, Abu!" 



Oh! thanks to God that Saxon hate is raging through the 
land, 
Thank God that England's cruel force is murdering 
old and young. 
For this will save the Nation's soul, will force us to 
withstand 
Their hellish work, their devil's deeds: will save our 
Native tongue. 

Thank God for England's savage hate. Oh ! let it rage 
the more. 
And burn and slay and maim and kill, nor spare the 
young or old 
Oh! let it rage and let it waste the land from shore to 
shore ; 
The furnace fire destroys the dross, but can't destroy 
the Gold. 



The Gold will last: — Our Golden tongue, the tongue of 
long ago. 
The Gold will last : — The Celtic Soul untrammelled 
soon will be. 
The Gold will last: — An Irish State, and England makes 
it so. 
The Gold will last: — Our Native Land, a Nation 
Fair and Free ! 



[80] 



IRISH MEMORIES* 

I am old and gray but God speed the day 

When Erin shall be free; 
When the Saxon foe will be forced to go — 

could I that day see. 

Could I see raised high in the Irish sky 
The green over Manhallen men 

Could I Erin see proud, great and free 
A nation once again. 

Ah me, ah me, I smile for I see 

1 see how vain the dream 
And yet not vain to 3ream again 

What I dreamt by Irish stream. 
The dream of you when I wandered o'er 

The hills of the land I love, 
I dream and still will dream them until 

God calls me to Heaven above. 

When long ago ere my blood ran slow 

When health and youth were mine. 
In times gone by 'neath the Irish sky 

It coursed through my veins like wine. 
In the days of yore, now alas no more, 

I loved and loved. Ah me 
Forever they're passed, too fair to last 

Passed, gone, never more to be. 

Now old and slow through life I go, 

I look back with pitying joy 
To the days of yore, to the Irish shore. 

To an ardent hopeful boy 
Who dreamed to see the old land free. 

Who longed to bear a brand 
'Gainst robber knaves who kept us slaves. 

In God's brightest, fairest land. 



[81] 



DREAMING AND WISHING 

Oh, to see again the dear old land 

Where my fathers fought in the long ago, 

Grasping the pike in a dying hand 
Far in the front, facing the foe, 

O land of memories sad and gay. 

Land that I left one bygone day. 

Land of the misty mountains blue ; 

Land of the sparkling, rippling rill; 
Land of soft rains, of silvery dews. 

Of golden furze and of cloud-capped hill ; 
Land of much bygone joy and pain ; 

Dear Lord, and to see that land again. 

To see, oh, to see the shannon's stream 
Flow grandly down to meet the sea ; 

Oh, I've seen it oft in many a dream; 

And I've seen the Nore, the Suir, the Lee. 

Ah, many a stream and river gay 

I've seen in dreams, by night by day. 

And many a mountain towering high, 

And many an ivied abbey wall, 
And the glinting, gleaming, dark grey sky 

Of Ireland, bending over all. 
And all these scenes once more to see 

Dear Lord, Thou'st wondrous good to me. 

Dear Lord, so wondrous good to me, 

One other boon I suppliant crave, 
Grant that I hail the old land free, 

Ere yet I fill an exile's grave. 
Grant that aloft in Irish sky, 

A young Republic's flag be seen, 
A Tricolor may proudly fly. 

The Orange, White and Green. 



[82] 



'For life's brief sun is one brief day 
That glows and fades and sinks away. 



PROUD, PROUDER, PROUDEST 

I am proud, so proud, that I first saw light 

In a dear little isle far away; 
For the freedom of Ireland I'd willingly fight, 

Oh, I dream of that isle night and day. 
My fathers lived there in that island so fair, 

And they scorned the Sassenach crew. 
It also I scorn. Thank God I was born 

In Ireland. Thank God, Oh, I do. 

1 am prouder by far that today I am here 

In the home of the brave and the free; 
Than the gay starry flag no flag is so dear. 

No flag so beloved by me. 
O Land that I love, all others above. 

My heart you completely enthrall! 
AVere a thousand lives mine, the thousand were 
thine, 

America, first land of all. 

But I'm proudest of all that the faith that I hold, 

The faith that has ever been mine. 
Is the faith that is full nineteen centuries old, 

The faith that is true and divine. 
The faith from above that the Son in His love 

Gave the world. He will not recall 
That wonderful faith. It is mine beyond death. 

Of that faith I am proudest of all. 



[84] 



VICTORY DAY 

November 11th, 1918. 

Flino^ our flag to the sky ; let it float to the breeze, for this 

is the greatest of days, 
For in far fields of France is the victory won, to the great 

God of battles the praise. 
All praise to Jehovah, the foe in his ruin, is seeking what 

mercy he may; 
Fling the flag to the heavens in gladdest rejoicing, for 

this is our victory day. 

Was ever a victory fairer or greater, o'er ocean's broad 

billows vv^e came. 
To meet an invader who ravaged the nations with 

slaughter, with poison, with flame ; 
The ruthless barbarian, who crossing his border, went 

onward in deadly advance. 
Bringing death and destruction to poor trampled Belgium 

and ruin and sorrow to France. 

Him we met, him we fought, him we routed, praise 
Heaven, no greater could victory be; 

We chased him from France and we chased him from 
Belgium ; we chased him from moun- 
tain and sea ; 

Thanks to God who was with us, who blessed our en- 
deavors, who gave us this greatest of 
days. 

Who blessed us and helped us, the foe now is routed : not 
to us, to Jehovah the praise. 

Throw Old Glory aloft to the blue vault of Heaven ; let 
it ripple its folds fair and free; 

Old Glory's brought freedom to down-trodden nations in 
distant lands over the sea. 

Old Glory is floating o'er French fields of battle, of free- 
dom the symbol and sign. 

Old Glory has chased the invader from Flanders, and 
hunted him back o'er the Rhine. 



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Oh, never a day in the annals of nations as glorious as 
this day shall be: 

This day that sees tyranny ended forever, and down- 
trodden nations set free. 

Remembered forever be this liberation; the greatest the 
earth ever knew. 

Fling the flag to the sky then; throw out to the breezes 
the folds of the Red, White and Blue. 



"DE LINGUA LATINA" 

(From an Old Diary) 

April 1st, 1905 — (Note the date.) 

Visited a certain institution of classic culture and ran 
into a bevy of enthusiastic young ladies who had just been 
presented with some new Latin grammars. These young 
ladies, filled with pride and self-importance, assailed me 
with: "Father, what do you think! We seven girls 
are going to study Latin!" *Tm sure we'll like it, won't 
we, Father? Didn't you, Father?" ''I can read it al- 
ready — " "So can I, Father, except the big words, and 
I skip them." "Every girl should know Latin; isn't that 
so, Father?" etc., etc., ad infinitum. 

After reading my own Latin lessons, the Nocturns of 
the Breviary, tonight, I suadente diabole, doubtless, per- 
petrated this atrocity: 

In olden days, when Rome was great 

And Romans ruled the earth, 
Lingua Latina was the tongue 

Of grief, and eke of mirth. 

Each little tot that wanted milk 

Or sugar, on its back 
Rolled, howled and yelled in strident tones, 

"Da Mihi rnel et lac!'' 



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The school girl, when the teacher said, 
"Please answer, 'Yes' or 'No'," 

Just as today, paused, scratched her head, 
And answered, "Nescio/' 

A lover who, in Virgil's day, 

Wooed maid, invito Pa, 
Sighed, mooned, and wrote in doggrel verse, 

''To amo, O cara." 

The soldier wielded his good sword, 

And loud in Latin tongue. 
While chopping off barbarian limbs, 

"Bonum laudavit gladium." 

Yes, all the witty and the grave, 

All people, 'tis no joke, 
From Caesar down to Caesar's slave, 

"hinguam Latinarn" spoke. 

"Eheu fugaces!" Times have changed. 

Since Horace tuned his lay; 
States, Empires, Kingdoms, rose and fell 

Since Julius Caesar's day. 

The language of eternal Rome 

Had all but ceased to be, 
When lo, behold, " prodigium" 

Most marvelous to see! 



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Pulchrae septem puellulae 

Oh, what a sight sublime, 
Swear they will master Rome's great tongue 

And pass it on to time! 

Hark, hear them just like Roman girls 

Of Marcus Tullius' day, 
''Linguam Latinam loquentes" 

''Visu Mtrabile." 

Hurrah ! the Latin tongue is safe. 

And fads may come and fads may go, 

"Dii iinrnortales'' zounds, gazooks, 
"lo friumphe, O loT 



A BIRTHDAY WISH* 

May God in His goodness bless this your birthday, 
May His blessings abide is the prayer that I pray, 
May these blessings not cease with today, but abound 
All the days of the year till next birthday comes round, 
And a year from the present, may God this allow, 
I'll wish the same blessings I'm wishing you now. 



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IN MEMORIAM 
Owen Coyle, Died October 24th, 1914. 

I, sad, tonight my past years scan. 
And say of all the men I knew 
You were the best, most kind, most true ; 

I never knew a better man. 

Good, kind were you ; to make me so 
You tried, so gentle, quiet, mild ; 
You, in all things, in sooth, a child ; 

A better man I could not know. 

I see you in your lofty chair, 

In that old school beneath the trees; 

Without, the hum of summer bees 
Makes languorous all the drowsy air. 

You teach, and grouped around are we 
Who listen to the oft told tale — 
The woes, the wrongs of Inisf ail ; 

And vow we the old land to free. 

You loved, with love I may not tell 

The dear old land ; you taught us too 
To love the land, with love leal, true, 

Ah, yes, you loved the old land well! 

And God you loved, and Church of God, 
With fervor deep; with lips aflame 
You filled our hearts with love the same. 

Rest, rest you now, 'neath hallowed sod. 

And as you rest in holy soil 

Awaiting Resurrection Day, 

For your soul's peace your son will pray. 
Your work well done and passed your toil. 



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I end as I these lines began ; 

You were my friend, my father kind, 
With love of God and Eire my mind 

You stored. 1 never knew a better man. 

— (October 24, 1917) 



THE DISTRICT NURSE 

Ah, nobler, grander still 

Than this great work does she 

Who follows upward still 
The Christ to Calvary. 

She, calm, serene, secure. 
No earthly prize will take. 

She loves Christ's own loved poor 
For Christ's own blessed sake. 

By Christ-like pity led 

She angel-like is near; 
She bends o'er sorrow's bed. 

She oft dries sorrow's tear. 

Aye angel she in sooth. 

Sent by the Heavens above 

She gives her strength, her youth. 
Her all in pitying love. 

And He the Christ who gave 

His all for men of old, 
Her will He guard and save, 

Her, give the crown of gold. 



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THE KNIGHTLY COLUMBUS 

O! never worthier knight drew breath, 
Than he, the gallant Genoese, 
Who dared ten thousand times grim death 
What time he sailed the unknown seas. 
Who, fearless, dauntless, undismayed, 
Castile's proud flag to breeze unfurl'd. 
And bore, with Blessed Mary's aid, 
Salvation to the western world. 

O ! ne'er more daring knight, I ween. 
Than he who bravely sailed afar. 
And trusted to the heavenly queen 
When set in sea the Arctic star. 
When strangely glowed the southern cross. 
He, undismayed, sailed on and on. 
Though fierce and high the billows tossed. 
His three frail vessels, till he won. 

Until, when weary days had passed, 
When boundless seemed the seething sea, 
The longed-for land, one morn, at last. 
Lay smiling fair beneath his lee. 
And loud and long re-echoed then, 
Wild cheers across that untrod main. 
When he, the kingliest man 'mong men, 
Claimed all the western world for Spain. 

We knights who proudly bear his name. 

Though living in prosaic days. 

With pride, with joy, with loud acclaim, 

With gladness bring our meed of praise. 

May we, who greet him, yet again. 

As knightliest knight that earth e'er knew, 

Be like him, loyal, faithful men, 

To God, to Church, to country, true. 



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